Gravity (The Taking) (21 page)

“It multiplies,” I say, my words almost a whisper. I stare out into my room, seeing nothing, lost in my thoughts. We sit silently for several minutes, him wrecked with remorse, me with fear.

“I should go.” He starts to rise, but I grab his arm, our eyes connecting. He must sense what I’m thinking. I don’t want to worry any longer. He lies beside me, our faces inches apart. “Or maybe I’ll stay.” He kisses my lips and cheeks and neck, filling my body with warmth.

I maneuver on top of him. My body takes over, all restraint gone, all thoughts of anything but us vanishing from my mind. His hands move into my hair, down my back, farther and farther. I wiggle a hand under his shirt, tracing lines on his stomach, and ease off his shirt. He does the same for mine so we’re bare chest to bare chest, our breath heavy. Then, suddenly, he sits up, pushing me back until I’m straddling his waist. “You’ve had a hard day. We shouldn’t…” He shifts in the bed, reaches for his shirt, and hands me mine. I slip it on but keep my eyes on him.

“What’s wrong?” I ask.

He rakes a hand through his hair and looks up at me, seeming conflicted, then he says, “Come take a walk with me.”

“Now?”

He slips out of bed and holds out his hand for me. “I have a surprise for you.”

A minute later we’re in the forest, crunching down the trail, the moonlight as our guide. It’s a full yellow moon—unrealistic-looking and so big I want to reach out to it. Jackson takes my hand and I slow my pace. It’s electrifying being here with him with no one else to see.

He pulls me to him. We walk the rest of the way to the Unity Tree wrapped in each other’s arms. I feel sliced in half, cut by guilt. My loyalties are to my dad, to my family, my people. It’s who I am, the kind of person I want to be. Dad’s disappointed face swirls through my mind. I divulged information to the enemy, information that may prevent a war.

We reach the Unity Tree in silence. Jackson likely heard my thoughts, but he doesn’t say anything. He walks around the tree and brings back a large basket. I study it. “What’s that?”

He grins. “It’s a picnic basket. I thought you could use a distraction.”

“A what basket?”

“Picnic. Haven’t you ever heard of picnics?” He opens the basket, pulling out a small blanket, and lays it on the ground in front of the tree. I eye it and then him and then lie down on the blanket. He breaks into hysterics, laughter echoing through the woods. “You don’t
lay
on it. You sit on it and eat.”

“You want me to eat in the middle of the night on this”—I glance at the blanket—“crisscross blanket.”

He laughs again, this time fighting for breath. “It’s called plaid. And this is all human stuff you should know.”

“Whatever. Do you know my parents?” I say sarcastically. “I can just see Dad now, sitting on the ground, eating a— Where is this food you speak of?”

“In here.” He motions to the basket and takes out all kinds of food. “Do you like it? I mean, we don’t have to eat. I just thought…”

“No, it’s perfect. I love picnics, do them all the time. Let’s eat.”

He smiles again and sets everything out.

A bright red strawberry catches my eye and I pick it up to take a bite.

“How do you know about this stuff?” I ask.

“We’re required to learn your history. I am more than others. It’s drilled into my mind on a constant, daily basis. What happened and when and why. You can’t imagine how frustrating it is to be expected to know so much in so little time.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Have you met my father?”

“I retract previous statement. Let’s talk about something else,” he says, tilting his glass back to take a drink.

“Yes, tell me about your family.”

Jackson chokes, coughing and hacking.

“Are you okay?” I ask.

“Yeah, sorry I…” He moves a strand of hair from my face and kisses me. I wrap my legs around his waist and look at him.

“Can I…touch you?” I ask.

“Touch me? Where?” He grins.

I pretend-punch his chest. “Not like that. I just want to…” I trace my fingers down the sides of his face, forming lines on his cheeks, down his neck, smoothing my hands over his shoulders and arms. He leans back on his elbows, and I loosen his shirt, exposing the contours of his toned chest. He’s so perfect; it’s unbelievable that anyone could be this perfect.

I lean forward and kiss him, letting his body warm mine. Heat rises between us and I wonder when he’ll pull away, but he doesn’t stop.

He lays me on the blanket, his body pressed against mine, his lips enveloping mine in a fit of passion that causes my skin to tingle from my head to my toes. “Will you stay with me tonight? Out here?” he says, pulling away to look at me.

I nod and Jackson slides down so that we’re side by side on the blanket. He kisses me again and then closes his eyes. His breath is heavy but soon it slows to a peaceful rhythm. I close my eyes, drifting off.

Then the dream finds me.

I’m alone in lab three, watching as Ryden’s body jerks and spasms. No one will know if I release him. I can do it. I can save him. But I don’t. Instead, I watch as he slowly begins to die. Then I catch sight of my reflection against the steel wall across from me. My skin is golden, like the sun rises through my skin, bronze and beautiful…then fear eats into my mind. I’m an Ancient. As soon as I think the words, the door behind me opens, and Dad walks in with a gun in his hand. He shakes his head, his lips pursed, and then he shoots me in the head.

CHAPTER 22

I sneak into my house at four a.m., beyond exhausted. Mom is an early riser, so I knew if I waited too long I risked running into her…and being locked in my room for the rest of my life. She used to sneak into my room when I was little just to watch me sleep. I would wake up to find her sitting beside me on my bed, but when I would ask her why she came she would always say just to make sure. I never knew what she meant, but now I wonder if she was making sure I survived the night.

I have no clue what time Jackson and I fell asleep, but I know nightmares stole my dreams. He must think I’m a terrible sleeper. Though he’d sleep terribly, too, if his dad shot him in the head. I shake the image from my mind and climb into my bed, allowing myself another few minutes of sleep before I get ready.

Big mistake.

I wake twenty minutes late, missing the first tron. Mom bursts into my room just as I’m setting my alarm clock back on my nightstand. “Are you feeling okay? You have training today. You need to get going.”

“Training. You mean this afternoon?”

“No,” she says. “Didn’t you read your messages last night? Your father authorized early Operative training. You’re supposed to be there at eight this morning.”

I jump out of bed and race to my bathroom. “Can you pull out my training clothes?”

“Sure, but I can message your father.”

“No, no, no! I’ll be ready in ten.”

Fifteen minutes later, I’m out the door and running to the tron. I slide onto it seconds before the doors close and drop into a seat, my chest pounding. I can’t be late for my first training. This is unbelievable. I crack my knuckles, each joint one by one, my mind distant. I wonder if Jackson knows to show—or if he’ll even be asked to after what happened with Dad. I wonder if Gretchen will act weird. I wonder, if I do well, whether she’ll think it’s because I’m part Ancient. And maybe she’d be right.

The tron stops at Business Park and I’m off, running down the auto-path without another thought. I fidget for my keycard at the door but slam to a halt when I get inside. I have no clue where to go. The training room is a keycard-only access zone. My keycard isn’t coded for training yet…or is it? I step into the elevator and press the third floor. When the elevator stops, I turn and slide my keycard through the scanner on the back wall. Instantly, the doors open and once again I’m overlooking the training room.

“Alexander,” the head Operative calls out. “You’re late! Get down here before I drop you from training.”

I fall into line beside Gretchen, Jackson to her left, and Marcus beside him. The rest of the thirty or so people in the room are strangers. I had forgotten we wouldn’t train alone. Trainees are chosen from around the country. All schools offer F.T. training, though most don’t have the resources to test properly. I’m not the smallest girl, but I’m definitely not the largest. Depending upon our training today, I might leave bruised and bleeding.

The training room isn’t what I remembered. There are no longer four stations. Instead, one large station occupies the majority of the room, blocked off by four steel beams with rope draping from beam to beam. At the opposite side of the station from us is a large T-screen.

The Operative motions to the screen and then to the tables that line the station. There are four large black boxes on each of six tables. “You can call me Terrence. Today, you will learn how to shoot every legal weapon known to mankind…and a few that aren’t yet legal. The T-screen allows you to advance from a still target to a moving target. I expect you all to master this skill to prevent dead bodies. Understand?”

Dead bodies. I wonder if he means us or other people. Either way it doesn’t sound good. Terrence walks to each of the tables, clicking open all the boxes. From this distance, I can only see the first two tables. Both are stocked with handguns. All training guns have a switch that transfers the weapon from practice to lethal. Hence the T-screen. Practice mode utilizes lasers. Lethal mode uses lasers only for sighting and otherwise uses traditional ammunition—whatever is appropriate for the weapon.

“There are thirty-five of you,” Terrence says. “The T-screen behind us will separate into seven sections. I have you in five rows of seven. The first person in each line will take a gun from the first table, fire until you hit the moving target, and then circle to the back of the line when the screen flashes. Remember, if your aim’s bad you’re going to rile the ones behind you. So I suggest you figure it out fast. You must successfully use a weapon from each box before you can leave today. Get started!” He struts over to a chair against the left wall, smirking as he walks. I’m guessing he’s seen everything in this training and is anxious to see which of us makes an idiot of ourselves.

Thankfully, I’m well trained with most weapons. I shot my first gun when I was ten. I remember how heavy it felt in my small hands, how Dad pushed me to shoot again and again until my arms ached from holding it up. It took me weeks of hour-long practices every day to hit the target. I still have that gun, tucked away in my gun cabinet right now. Something about mastering your first weapon is like a rite of passage, so Dad let me keep it. I was so proud that day, until he brought in the next weapon and the next, each more complicated than the last. That training went on for years, but it left me with impeccable aim. Ancient or not, I should do well today.

The four of us from my school stand first in line along with a tall guy with long black hair beside me. He glances over and smiles. “Alexander, huh? The commander’s daughter. We’ll see if that heritage proves anything today.” He steps up to the table and grabs a handgun. I do the same, ignoring his jab. I widen my stance, feel the weight of the gun in my hand, and wait for the T-screen to click on. A grid appears on the screen with a black target in the center. I count to five, click the release, and shoot. A mark appears in the center of the target. The screen switches to a person walking across the street with a target over his head. I shoot again, and the screen switches to a bird flying through the air at absurd speeds for a bird. It flies across the screen and back. I study it, timing its flight, and then shoot a second before the bird comes back into the screen. My section of the T-screen flashes, and I circle to the back of my line.

Jackson is already done and smiles over at me. “Great job,” he says.

“You, too,” I say, smiling back.

Gretchen steps into line behind me, bouncing with excitement. She’s a good shot so I knew she’d do well. Seconds later, Marcus and the black-haired guy finish. I thought their times were slow until the second group starts. None of them can hit the still target.

“Locke,” Terrence calls. “Go demonstrate before we all fall asleep.”

“Yes, sir,” Jackson says, making his way to the front of the line. He shows them first how to stand, then how to hold the gun, how to sight in the target (with and without a laser sight). Within a few minutes, he has all of them through the sequence. I expect him to step back in line, but instead he stays, helping the next group and the next until it’s our turn again.

Gretchen edges toward me. “Are you all right?”

“Much better, thanks to you.” I smile up at her, hoping she knows how much it meant to me that she didn’t trip out last night. I expected her to be a little uneasy around Jackson, but so far she’s acted normal. I would say it speaks to our friendship, but really it speaks to her ability as an Operative. She’s able to hide emotion better than anyone I know. I just hope she isn’t hiding her true feelings from me. I’m sure I’d notice. Besides, even if she were worried or afraid, she’d never put me at risk by telling anyone.

The next hour goes faster than the first. We switch from handguns to assault rifles to sniper rifles and every type of gun in between. Terrence walks over when we get to the final table. “The last set of tables contains a new, experimental weapon. This is classified information. If anyone leaks this…well, you can imagine what will happen. The first group,” he orders.

We go to the tables and pull out silver guns that resemble rifles, though smaller and definitely lighter. I balance the gun in my hand, getting a feel for its weight, and step over to my spot. The gun is light, but it must be powerful. I remember Dad’s Newton lesson from years ago—every action has an equal and opposite reaction. Whatever force comes out of this gun will recoil back at me, and I’d hate to embarrass myself by screaming or, worse, falling backward.

I wait for one of the others to fire first. Jackson shoots; there’s a red blur and then a flash on the T-screen. A hush goes over the room. All guns propel the ammo fast, but this is something else. A laser gun—no ammunition at all. This thing fires at invisible speeds, no doubt created for use against the Ancients.