Evolution (3 page)

I’m walking the edge of panic.  So I try to think of
something else—of some way for us to escape.  I tear through the list of
prospects, discarding one after another.  The possibility of leaving this
Outpost without Matt's permission is non-existent.  If we want to leave, I
have to convince him to send us away.

I wander a while longer, trudging along with my head down
and hands shoved into my pockets—something I seem to be doing a lot of
lately.  All my emotions are buried carefully inside me—longing,
loneliness, fear.  I’m on my own now.  Miranda is busy with whatever
she’s been assigned to, not that we’ve ever been close.  Jonas is
forbidden.  If I thought for a second that he wanted to see me, I would
risk everything to do it.  But he doesn't.  So I don't.  I
suppress the feeling to numbness, but I’m aware of it nonetheless.  My
heart is entirely burnt up with grief—a loose lump of ash still in the original
shape.  But the slightest wind will blow it all away.

I’m so empty already.  Longing for a friend.  I’ve
got Matt.  That’s about it.  Convenient for him.  I consider
this revelation as I wander, suspicion growing deeper and stronger as I turn it
over in my mind.

I’m in the middle of the marketplace when a voice rises on
the air.  Everyone freezes.

Female.  Calm.  Spoken, but loud enough for all of
us to clearly hear every word.  There is a sense of multiplicity in the
voice—not one woman, but hundreds of the same, speaking perfectly in synch.

"Residents of Outpost Three," it addresses
us.  "You have violated the Founding Principle of the New World
Covenant."

Wild, blank looks fly around between us as we all check each
other's faces for understanding.  Is a Sentry
talking
?  The
Founding Principle?  What is that?  A new Law? 
Impossible.  We've broken plenty of the old ones, surely.  But this?

"As such, this Outpost has been marked for
cleansing," the voice continues in unconcerned authority.  "All
residents are to be processed for erasure.  Form a single file line at the
Outpost gate.  You have two minutes to comply.  Any resistance will
extend the punishment for all residents to immediate death."

Faces are white, living corpses.  A girl beside me
stumbles and clings to an older woman at her side.  Horror manifests in
widened, staring eyes, and then in sobs.  Wailing.  People are
calling out for each other.  Trying to find family members.  Friends.

I've only one hope.  If I get in that line, I'm
dead.  Jonas and Neveah.  Apollon, if he still exists.  We're
all dead.  We've already been marked once.

Two Sentries come sprinting through the marketplace toward
the gates.  I ditch out of the way, narrowly avoid them.  The girl
next to me screams as her leg is crushed.  I grab her arms and drag her
further out of the main path, watching the backs of the Sentries
disappear.  They’re ours.  They’re going to defend us.  Matt
does have a plan.

A clash of metal sounds at the gate.  People are
shrieking, running.  An explosion.  Smoke and flames billow skyward,
marking the battle that is happening at the gate.  More Sentries are
coming from the opposite direction.  This time, we’re lucky not to be in
their path.  They turn off before they reach us and run to join the
battle.

Taylor’s arm scoops around my waist and hauls me up. 
“Let’s go,” he says, even as he pulls me away.

“No!”  I’m reaching for the girl who is sobbing,
shivering.  She’s in shock.  “We have to help her!”

Jacob’s eyes dart in her direction, consider the older woman
who has now made it to her side.  “She has help,” he says.  His
brother nods.  Each of them grab me by one arm and get us walking— fast—
toward the Rustler.

We stay out of the street, where chaos rages as people flee
in all directions and more Sentries run toward the gates.

I’m looking over my shoulder, straining to make out what’s
happening as they drag me along.  There’s only smoke and fire and clashing
and crashing.  A piece of metal goes flying into the air, spinning,
spinning on its way down.  It seems to take forever to fall.  A cloud
of debris tosses into the air as it crashes through a roof.  More
screams.  Then we’re at the Rustler, through the door, behind the bar, and
Jacob and Taylor are shoving me into the dark hole beneath the trap door.

I growl under my breath as I allow them to push me in. 
A new kind of animal fear competes with the fear of the battle.  My
stomach turns.  I close my eyes, shivering, and tell myself that the darkness
is only because I have my eyes closed.  I’m not in a hole.  I’m not
in a box.

The door thuds closed above me, and I hear Jacob and Taylor
shuffling beside me in the darkness.  They don’t say a word or try to move
me any further into the tunnels.  This should be good enough.  We
should be clear of any scanners, so long as we’re quiet.

But in the dark, I think of Jonas.  Of Neveah. 
And try so hard
not
to think of Apollon.  Are my friends
safe?  Will they make it?  Will I have lost all of them when this is
over?  For a brief second, an image flashes in my mind, burning
there.  Me, Jacob, and Taylor climbing from the trap door, emerging into a
broken, battered Outpost in dead silence.  There is nothing.  No
one.  Everyone has been erased or slaughtered.  The flash moves to
Oscar.  To his happy little smile.  To dangling feet.  I crouch
low, leaning into the wall, hugging myself, biting off a wail.  Fear and
rage and grief and disgust.  I could have stopped this.  I could have
made this stop, if Matt had let me.  I have to get out of here.  Find
the white tower.  Destroy the Sentries once and for all.

***

Moments or hours later, when the screaming and explosions
have been replaced by voices and quiet footsteps, we open the trap door and
climb out.  We walk out into the street and look around.

There is still smoke pouring into the sky near the gates,
but other than that, no sign of destruction.  The streets are mostly
quiet, vacant.  Across the way, a girl and a boy are huddled together on
the curb, sobbing quietly.  A group of men are talking in low voices on
the corner by Canson’s store.  One of them glances our way, sees us, and
detaches himself to come talk to us.  It’s Julian Moore.

He stops in front of us and nods uncertainly, “Eden.”

“Hey Julian,” I say, sounding incredibly normal.  My
voice doesn’t even shake.  “I take it we won?”

“Looks like it.”  He looks off toward the gate.

“Any news?”

Julian turns back to me, his eyes scanning over me.  “A
couple of people got hurt,” he says.  “Your friend is tending to them.”

“My friend?”  My heart jumps as I realize.  “You
mean Neveah?”

He nods.  “Looked like she had her hands full.”

I have to force myself to calmness.  “Where is she?”

“Just in the marketplace,” he says, tilting his head that
way.

I’m off and running.  I barrel down the street, Jacob
and Taylor on my heels.  I don’t stop until I see her.  At a small
distance, my feet skid to a stop on the broken pavement.

A cluster of people is gathered around a covered stall where
they have moved a few wounded people to shelter.  Laid out on the ground
are three people, one of them the girl whose leg was crushed.  Neveah is
on her knees at the girl’s side, her arm around the girl’s shoulders, tipping a
bowl with some concoction into her mouth.  Probably something for the
pain.  I sigh, my body flooding with relief.  The girl could not be
in better hands.  And Neveah looks OK.  She looks unharmed.

Even though I am longing to rush to her, I know I can’t
disturb her now.  I would just get in her way when she needs to concentrate
and do what she does best.  She already has a few helpers— likely family
members of the wounded.  So I watch from a distance for a while, allowing
the relief to wash through.  For now, that has to be enough.

But inside, as the newness of the relief begins to wear off
along with the shock of the battle, I’m thinking, plotting.  Neveah is
free.  We need to get out of here more than ever.  The Sentries may
have been held off for now, but that won’t last long.  More will come. 
More will
always
come.  And
that voice
.  Unease rises
within me as I remember.  We’re marked for destruction.  This will
never stop, unless I stop it.

But we can’t leave without Apollon.  Not as long as
there’s a chance that he’s alive.  I have to find him.

I turn and stroll down the street, saunter into the Rustler
like the world is mine.  Everyone seems to think that’s the way it is, so
why not make that work for me?  The bar is packed full of people desperate
to retreat from the nightmare we’ve just experienced.  The tables are all
full, but people make room for me at the bar as soon as I walk that way.

Arthur starts pouring the good whiskey when he sees
me.  I wave my hand to encompass the entirety of the Rustler.  “A
round.”  Not that I have any money.  Arthur pulls out a different
bottle and starts pouring, anyway.

That’s all it takes to get everyone’s attention.  Tense
whispers fall to silence.  I spend a moment looking from face to
face.  The men who were talking on the corner are here, including Canson,
Lloyd, and Julian.  I used to play cards with them.  Now they stare
at me in awe like I am an entirely different person.  Then there’s a
number I can’t put names to but recognize none-the-less.  My two
bodyguards lean up against either side of the door, arms crossed, looking
cautious and amused.  They’re waiting to see what I’m going to do.

I raise my voice loud enough to carry the question to the
whole bar.  “Does anyone remember seeing Apollon during the battle with
Grey?”

Nervous glances fly around, quickly followed by incoherent
murmurs and downcast eyes.  Perhaps they expected me to offer words of
reassurance after our recent ordeal.  Maybe that’s what Matt would
do.  But I don’t have time for that.  I want to know where my friend
is.  Now.

I scan through their faces and gestures, looking for any
sign that someone knows something.  There’s a man in the back who is still
looking around.  He glances at me.  His gaze quickly falls to the
floor when he sees I’ve noticed.

“Spit it out.”  My voice demonstrates exactly how thin my
tolerance is at the moment.

He clears his throat, tries to talk, and has to clear his
throat again.  When he speaks, his voice is shaky.  He’s afraid of
me.  All these people are afraid of me.  “He was…  I saw him not
far off the marketplace, when the battle had just begun,” he manages,
finally.  “He was with that woman.  The herb-dealer who doesn’t
talk.”

“Neveah?” I’m spluttering, before I even realize I’m saying
it out loud.  The thoughts come crashing together in my mind.  Matt
had Neveah.  Apollon and Neveah were together.  Does Matt have
Apollon?  And he’s not even admitting it?  Anger and fear drain the
blood from my face.

I turn around and down my drink, absorbed in these
thoughts.  Dismissed, the others go back to their hushed
conversations.  Only when I turn to walk out of the bar do I realize that
their words are whispered quietly, hidden from me.  I stop at the door and
allow my eyes to scan over them.  Tension.  Fear.

This thing with the Sentries has them more riled up than I
realized.  Perhaps I missed it because I was so focused on my own
worries.  On getting me and my friends out.  What I didn’t realize
is, as much as this development bothers me, I saw it coming.  At least
most of it.  The fact that the Sentries showed up wasn’t a surprise for
me.  But for them, it’s total shock.

Not good for Matt.

Not my problem.

I turn and stalk out the door.

***

I’m panting, bent over in an
alleyway, hands on my knees.  A sudden start, lots of twists and turns, a
shortcut through a crumbling building, and I seem to have lost Jacob and
Taylor, at least for a moment.  I’m pretty sure they’ll guess where I’m
headed, so I’ve got to get there before them and be gone before they arrive.

I run the backstreets toward the
northeastern side of the Outpost, where our little shack is huddled against the
concrete wall.  I go straight to the door to let myself in, but it won’t
open.  Locked.  I pound on it urgently.

“Jonas!  Let me in.  I
need to talk to you!”

Nothing.

I pound again. 
“Hurry!”  My heart is twisting inside me.  What if he won’t?  He
has to be in there.

Still nothing.  I drag in
another breath.

“Please!”  I pound with both
fists now.  “It’s important.”

His voice: “Go.  Away.”

I fight back the tears. 
“Jonas.  Please.”  I sound so defeated.  “Just two minutes. 
That’s all I ask.”

Silence.  I lean my forehead
against the door, listening for anything.  For the sound of him coming to
let me in.  But there is nothing.

Time is up.  I can’t risk
staying any longer.  Can’t risk what Matt would do to me or him or both of
us if he knew for sure that I was here.  I turn and rush off down the
street.  I put plenty of distance between me and my old home, then trudge,
hands in pockets, face turned down, until Jacob and Taylor find me.

There are whispers on the
streets.  A feeling.  When people see me, they look down and
away.  Pretend they weren’t discussing what they were discussing. 
But I have a pretty good idea of the panic that is silently running through the
channels of the Outpost.  I haven’t seen Matt, so I don’t know if he’s
aware of it.  If he’s prepared for what’s about to break out.

I return to the Rustler, where I
sit in a corner and nurse a drink.  I’m ignoring Jacob and Taylor,
silently trying to figure out how I’m going to find Apollon and escape with all
my friends.  An idea is forming.  I tap one finger on the table,
staring at my whiskey.  That’s where I’m at when Matt shows up, crowd in
tow.  They’re full of questions, cautious, but bolder than I’d expect. 
I suppose their fear of the Sentries is pushing them forward.

Matt raises his hands for
silence.

They quiet down.

“I’ve got this situation under
control,” he says, looking as unbothered as ever.  “No one is going
anywhere.  The Sentries are protecting us.  You have nothing to worry
about.”

“But the voice,” says Pete
Sumter, the cannibalistic butcher whose daughter died at Matt’s hand.  He
has every reason to want this to go wrong.  “You can’t tell us not to
worry about
that
.  How could you have it under control, when none
of us even knew that Sentries could talk?  You’re not saying you knew, are
you?”

Matt gives him a smile that sends
a chill down my spine.  “It doesn’t matter if they can talk.  They’re
gone.  They can say whatever they want.  Until they’re dead.”

“But surely more will come,” says
Sumter.  Everyone realizes this now.  Sentries respond to the death
of Sentries.  And he has a point.  We know so little about this
enemy.  But what he’s missing is that Matt wasn’t talking about Sentries. 
He was talking about Sumter.  The butcher is as good as dead.

The crowd is murmuring
nervously.  Some of them realize what I’ve realized, and they’re shuffling
back, toward the door.  Better to get out than to be associated with any
dissent that might occur.

Matt waves Arthur Adner over. 
“It’s been a long day,” he says.  “Let’s have a round to calm everyone’s
nerves.  Then back to work.  There’s still a lot to do.”

As the drinks are passed out, I
notice Matt registering my presence.  But I’m up and out the door before
he can join me.

***

I go to the marketplace to look for Neveah, but she is
nowhere to be found.  I’m guessing she’s gone home.  For a moment, I
consider trying to get away from Jacob and Taylor once again, but they are more
vigilant now, trailing me closer.  They’re afraid of being in trouble with
Matt if they lose me.  Can’t say I blame them.  Anyway, even if I was
able to get away long enough to return home, what’s to say Neveah would let me
in?  Though she was aware of the crystal that sparked the plan to side
with Matt, Miranda and I didn’t exactly include her in the plan’s
execution.  Does she feel as betrayed as Jonas?  Would she listen to
me?

If I want to get out of here along with my friends, I’m
going to have to convince both her and Jonas.  I’m also going to have to
talk to Miranda, though part of me hesitates.  She’s been working for
Matt, and I’m not one hundred percent sure where her loyalties lie.  Even
if she
is
technically on my side, it’s possible that she might tell Matt
my plans if she thinks I might fail… because if I do, we’re all in hot
water.  Matt has already warned me about ever betraying him again. 
Next time, I’m dead.  No joking or batting of eyelashes will get me out of
that.

It’s a good thing I’m dead serious.  For now, since I
need to find Apollon before I can act on anything, I spend my time doing
reconnaissance.  I wander the streets looking bored and moody, and count
up Sentries.  I make mental notes of where they tend to station
themselves, how far apart they are.  Before, I unwittingly gave Matt the
Sentries when I figured out how to pull the crystals that control them. 
Now, I can take away that control by the same method.  I can pull and
destroy their crystals one by one.  But I know that as soon as I remove
the first crystal, another Sentry will come running.  I’ll have to plan it
carefully so that I can get all the crystals without being slaughtered. 
Of course, I’ll have to watch out for Matt’s men as well.  Maybe, once I
find Apollon, he can help me convince Jonas and we can all coordinate an
attack.  That would be infinitely more doable.  But then… will
Apollon listen to me?  My breath freezes up as I remember Elaina Sumter
staring down the barrel of Matt’s gun.  I was responsible for that. 
I’m not sure how close she and Apollon were, but I suspect now that it was
closer than I knew.

There’s another problem, too.  Even without the
Sentries, Matt is a powerful foe.  He has eyes and ears everywhere— some
of them trailing me right now.  If I disable the Sentries, we’ll still
need a plan to escape the Outpost.  Maybe this growing tension can work to
our advantage….

For now, I begrudgingly return to Matt’s house.  The
sun is sinking behind the wall of the Outpost, and I can’t really do anything
until I figure out where Apollon is.  I sit in the parlor and wait for
Matt to return, ready to fling a million questions at him.  Ready to
demand the answers.  But Matt doesn’t return.  I imagine all the many
things he must be preoccupied with while I pick at the dinner that  Alayna
and Jess bring me.  Eventually, I give up and go to bed, determined to get
some rest so I can approach the next day with a clear mind.  I hardly
sleep at all.

***

I rise early in the morning, but Matt is still nowhere to be
found.  If he’s been home, he’s already left again.  I head down the
street looking for him, Jacob and Taylor right behind me.  Neither of them
have any idea where he might be— at least, that’s what they’re telling me.

I make a quick circle of the Outpost.  Not at the
Rustler.  Not in the marketplace.  I don’t find him by walking any of
the main streets, though I do pass by Sumter’s butcher shop.  The front
window is broken, blood on the shattered glass.  It looks like the place
has been looted.  I turn my thoughts away from Pete Sumter.  The fact
that I never liked him— that he tried to kill me once— is little consolation.

We continue on.  As we approach the gates, I’m gawking
at the wreckage of the wall.  Some men are rebuilding it yet again.
 But that’s not what really gets my attention.  There’s a group of
people with packs strapped onto their backs.  They clearly want to
leave.  A couple of Matt’s men are blocking the way, but they’re not the
power here.  There’s also a Sentry.  If not for the robot, these
people could easily overpower the guards and get out.  As it is, they’re
darting nervous glances at each other.  Planning something.  I stop
at a distance and watch.

A couple more tense words exchanged with the guards, and
their plan breaks into action.  Four men rush forward to subdue the guards. 
Simultaneously, another drops his pack, pulls out a knife, and takes on the
Sentry.  I watch in complete awe as the robot’s hand closes around the man
and yanks him into the air.

The guards are down.  The man in the Sentry’s grasp
moves his knife toward the metal plating on the Sentry’s chest.  Clearly
news has gotten around, and they know how it’s done— how to remove the
crystal.  Thoughts race through my mind.  Can I help them if another
Sentry comes?  Is it too early to enact the rest of my plan?  Is
there any way I can make this work for me?  Maybe we can escape sooner
than I thought.

As the man pries at the compartment, the Sentry’s free hand
closes around his arm.  Pulls.  Flesh rips.  Bones break. 
The man screams.  Blood spurts onto the metal plating and runs in rivulets
to puddle at the Sentry’s feet.  Next to the puddle, something thuds onto
the ground.  The arm.  The fingers are still twitching.

I turn to the side and throw up.

***

I’m on my third shot of whiskey, and only beginning to calm
down.  I’m still shaking a little.

“Are you OK, Eden?” Taylor asks from behind me where he’s
standing watch with his brother.  “That was some pretty gruesome shit.”

I don’t answer.  I’m not OK.  That shouldn’t have
happened.  The arm.  All the bodies that piled up after it. 
None of it should have happened.  Sentries don’t know how to defend
against having their crystals pulled.  Unless they can learn, and that’s
just preposterous.  Which leaves one other possibility.  Someone programmed
it into them.

Miranda waltzes into the bar.  Perfect timing. 
She’s with a group of Matt’s men, all buddy-buddy like she’s one of the
team.  She looks around, sees me, and excuses herself to pull up a chair
at my table.

"Hey," she says.  If she notices how upset I
am, she ignores it.  "How’s everything going?"

“Really?  ‘How’s everything going?’  Aren’t your
friends waiting on you?”  I glance at the group of men who are still
looking at her as they situate themselves at a table.

She frowns.  “Thought I’d check on you.”

"Check on me."  I can’t stop the words or the
tone of voice that accompanies them.  I should be asking questions. 
Unfortunately, I’m pretty sure I already know the answers.

"Well, you
are
my friend," Miranda says,
before adding in a mumble, "supposedly."

Miranda and I have come a long way, so I push my anger
aside.  I want to give her the benefit of the doubt.  Want to believe
that whatever she has done, she has done it innocently.  But I need a
moment to not think about this.

“Have you seen Neveah?” I ask.  “Is she home?”

Miranda’s frown deepens.  “Should she be?”

I scowl at her.

“I’ve been busy,” she deflects, palms up in a placating
gesture.

I take a deep breath.  “She should be home,” I say as
calmly as I can.

Miranda’s eyes scan over my face and I can see how quickly
she rethinks coming to talk to me.  She starts to get up.

"I'm glad you’re here," I say, before she can
leave.  "I have some questions."

She rolls her eyes and sinks back into her chair. 
"Here we go."

I glance behind me at Taylor and Jacob, then lean across the
table and speak so quietly that only she can hear.  "Did you
reprogram the Sentries?"

Her eyes widen.  She glances at my bodyguards. 
“You should ask Matt,” she says quickly, starting to retract.  “I’m not
supposed to talk about it.”

“One just lopped off someone’s arm,” I say as she stands
up.  I don’t give a damn if anyone hears.  “Did you do that? 
Did you teach it to do that?”

Miranda goes pale.  The Rustler goes silent. 
“…What?”  Her voice is so small.

I read the answers on her face.  The guilt.  She
purses her lips, but her chin quivers.  She takes a deep breath and lets
it out.  Her face becomes composed as she regards me quietly.

I cast a dark look around the room and everyone starts
talking again.  I lean across the table, grab Miranda by the wrist, and
yank her back into her seat.  For a moment, we watch each other across the
table.

When I speak, my voice is quiet again.  “What else?”

She shakes her head.  Refusal to answer or denial of
knowledge— I’m not sure.

“Can you undo it?”

She shakes her head again.  She glances around, then
leans in to whisper.  "No."  Her eyes look truly
regretful.  "Zane checks everything I write, and he doesn't miss a
thing.  He's not that great at writing the code, but he sure can read
it.  It's him that took out the part where
we
could command them in
the first place."

I study her face and she fidgets.

Her brow furrows as she goes on.  I think she wants to
prove to me that she’s sincere.  “I've been thinking about it,” she says,
her voice dropping even lower.  “I've tried to slip in a few small things
that might give us some advantage, but Zane always takes them out.  I
think, more than anything, that's his job.  To make sure nothing happens
to compromise Matt's hold on the Sentries."  Again, she glances nervously
at Jacob and Taylor, who are eyeing us from a few paces away.

I purse my lips and stare at the table, the realization
sinking into me.  There’s a wave of emotion where I think I’m going to
cry, but the pain sinks deep into my chest and turns numb except for the sickly
feeling in my stomach.  I meet Miranda’s eyes.  My voice seems to
have left me, but my lips move, forming unthinkable words.  “We’re stuck
here.”

We sit in silence for a moment.  I down my drink. 
My thoughts are like fallout: a drift of ash following the destruction of
everything.

I lift my hand to signal Arthur for another drink.  I’m
about to get unbelievably drunk.

As Arthur walks toward us with the bottle, there’s a noise
from outside.  The voices in the Rustler drop off once again to silence.

The noise is like a giant rush of something.  It
repeats itself in long bursts.  Under the main sound, there’s
splintering.  Breaking.

"What
is
that?" I mumble, though I’ve
already reached a conclusion.  I've gone cold.  I’ve never heard anything
like this noise, but Sentries have to be at the heart of it.  Nothing
natural can be making this noise.  Maybe everything will be over sooner
than I thought.

Around me, people are climbing to their feet, starting to
panic again.  I get to my feet, too.

The noise grows louder.  There's a sort of rhythm to
it.  Stop and start.  Stop, and start.  Soon, it's so loud I
want to cover my ears.  Grinding, rumbling.  A crash makes the ground
shake.

“Come on, Eden,” Jacob says, taking me by the arm.  But
I pull away.  I don’t want to hide in the tunnel again.  The tables
and bar vibrate.  Our drinks are jostled within their glasses. 
Outside, there is the sound of metal footsteps.