Hunted (10 page)

“Yes.”

“Good.” He grabs my hand and squeezes it. “See you later.” He runs off down the hall, his knapsack bouncing against his back.

Rachel and I walk more slowly. “You sure care a lot about this,” Rachel says, sneaking sideways glances at me.

I

realize,

suddenly,

that

she

suspects—maybe

even

knows—that I’m a Para.

I stare at her, dry-mouthed. “Well, if we don’t stand up for people who can’t speak out, who will?”

“True.” Rachel hesitates. “Caitlyn—do you know who Teen Para is?”
. . . is she Teen Para? . . .

I make my face look as blank as I can. “How would I know?”

“You’re right,” Rachel says hurriedly, like she’s rushing to reassure me. “It was a silly question. But if there’s ever anything you want to talk about, I can listen. I’m good at keeping secrets.”

God, she figured it out. She’s so perceptive. “Rachel—

you know how your dad registered . . . ?” Pain closes her throat and I can feel her struggling to breathe.

“I wish he never had,” she says, her voice low and hoarse.

“Even though it’s the law?”

“Laws aren’t always right. Weren’t you just suggesting that?” she says.

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I take a shallow breath, my head so light I can hardly focus. “I think you’ve figured out my secret.” Rachel’s mouth opens. “You mean—you’re—”

“I’m a telepath,”
I send.
“I can sense people’s
thoughts and emotions, and send mine to others. That’s why
you can hear me.”
My heart pounds in my ears.
Shut up!
I tell myself. But I can’t. It’s such a relief to be able to talk about it.
“That’s why I listen to white noise. It helps me
block it out. And yes—I’m Teen Para. And I did not rob any
bank or kidnap anyone.”

. . . oh my god . . . no wonder she understands . . . and
she’s telling me . . . wait, can she hear me? . . .

“Yes. But not all the time. I try not to eavesdrop on
people.”

There’s quiet all around us. The halls are empty.

“We’re going to be late,” I say.

“Who cares?”

“I do,” I say.
“I need to not draw attention to myself.”

“Oh—of course.”
“What class do you have?” We both peer at my schedule.

“Free period! You’re lucky. You know where the library is?”

I nod, trying to look calm, like it’s every day I trust a Normal with my secret. I’m letting my guard down too much with Rachel and with Alex. I’m taking too many risks.

“Okay. Well, talk to you later.” Rachel turns to leave.

“Wait!”
“I need you to promise you won’t tell anyone.”

‘I promise!’
Rachel thinks fervently.

“It can mean my life if you slip up,”
I add.

125

Cheryl Rainfield

“You can trust me,” Rachel says quietly. “I’ve done this before.”

Of course. Her dad. But still . . . it’s hard to be calm when it’s my life, and my freedom. I watch her walk away.

I hope my instincts are right.

I turn—and almost bump into Daniel standing just a few inches from me. I frown. Why didn’t I sense him?

Daniel’s lips pucker with worry, the way they used to when he was little.
“You’re trusting her—a
Normal—
with
your secret? With your life?”

“She’s a Para-sympathizer. Her dad’s a Para. She
won’t turn me in.”

“Everyone has their price; you know that. You saw
how they rushed to hand that poor guy in—Paul, was it?”
My eyes sting with held-in tears. I reach for Paul but can’t feel him. He must be too far away. Either that or they figured out how to cut off his contact with other Paras. I shiver. Let him be safe.

“He’ll be okay,” Daniel says gruffly. “He’ll survive. I did. And the tracker is just a nuisance—unless you mess up bad and your trooper fries you.”

That makes me want to cry even harder.

“You know we have to stop them, Caitlyn. We can’t let
them get away with this. They’re destroying so many lives.”

“But what can we do? They even twisted my blog
around—made it a reason for Normals to hate us.”
I press my hand against my stomach.

“That’s what I wanted to talk to you about,”
Daniel sends, looking deep into my eyes.
“I want you to join the
fight.”

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“The Underground? But I’m already—”

“No; we’re much more organized than that. We make
a real difference, instead of just hiding people or bellyach-ing about it all.”
He looks at me. “Will you come?”

“Okay. But where—?”

“You’ll see.”

High-heeled shoes sound down the empty hall. We shouldn’t be out here, not without a hall pass. I push myself back against the cold brick wall.

Daniel looks at me sideways.
“Don’t worry; I got it
covered.”

I feel his power surge, the air around me crackling.

“You don’t see us,”
he commands.
“The hall is empty.”
The teacher strides by without even glancing in our direction.

My eyes widen. “How did you—?”

“Aw, come on—don’t tell me you never put a ‘suggestion’ into a Normal’s head?” Daniel laughs, his voice echoing through the hall. “You haven’t? You don’t still believe that crap Dad spouted about never using our powers on Normals, do you? If I’d done that, I’d have been dead years ago, just like Dad. This is a kill-or-be-killed world, Caitlyn—haven’t you figured that out yet?” My heart clenches so hard, pain pierces my chest.
“But
Daniel, you shouldn’t—”

“Don’t tell me I shouldn’t; you weren’t there! Dad
could have protected himself if he’d wanted to. But no, he
let himself be killed by the Normals he was trying to protect.

Well, I did what I had to. I survived. And so would you.”
My throat is raw with grief. I don’t know this Daniel.

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Cheryl Rainfield

He’s different. Harder. But he’s right—I don’t know what it was like. I’m not a Para-slave.

I owe him this. I owe it to him to at least hear him out. And if it
can
really help make a difference, then maybe . . .

“All right,” I say. “Show me.”

Daniel smiles, then heads down the hall. I follow him down one flight of stairs, then another. We pass the gym, the pool, the scent of chlorine calling out to me. I take deep breaths, wondering if Alex is there, practicing. I shake my head and follow my brother.

Daniel leads me to a red metal door and we cut through the furnace room, the air hot and loud with banging, and then we head down a tiny flight of stairs into a basement I didn’t know existed.

The room is deep and shadowy, unfinished, and with a cold, unpainted concrete floor. But on the ceiling, something casts little shards of light. I look up. The ceiling is coated with sheets of aluminum foil.

Before I can wonder about that, two people step forward out of the gloom: a boy about my age, maybe a year or two older, with dark messy hair; and a short, thin, auburn-haired woman wearing a trooper uniform, her huge doe eyes focused on me. I look wildly at Daniel. Has he betrayed me, turned me in?

“I apologize for the stark meeting place,” the woman says, “but it’s the best we could come up with.” My heart tightens. I recognize that voice. Those eyes.

It’s the woman who took Daniel. Who tried to take
me
. I back away. “You’re—you’re—”

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“Sorry, Caitlyn, I should have told you,” Daniel says.

“This is Ilene, my mentor. And my friend Zack.”

“But she—she—,” I splutter, pointing at the woman I can hardly look at.

“Took me. I know.” Daniel nods. “But she also taught me a lot.”

I back up another step. “I don’t understand.” Is this a trap?

“It’s not a trap,” the woman says, holding out her hands beseechingly.

I see now that her uniform is not quite the same as a trooper’s. There are three thin red lines running down the sides, rather than one, and there are gold stars on her lapels.

She’s higher up than a trooper! Cold sweat breaks out on my skin.

“Don’t you trust me?”
Daniel sends, hurt threading through his mind-voice.

I do. I have to. But—

“It’s okay.”
The woman sends calming waves at me.

I block them, hard. “Don’t do that to me,” I say. “Let me make up my own mind.”

Ilene laughs. “You’re right, Daniel. She is powerful.

Most Paras don’t sense my touch—unless I want them to.” The woman turns to me. “You can trust us, Caitlyn. We want the same things.”

“Yeah? Like what?” I cross my arms over my chest. I can’t help being prickly, suspicious of this woman who stole my brother and caused us so much heartache. This woman who’s wearing the uniform of our enemies.

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Cheryl Rainfield

“We want equality. Freedom. The same basic rights that everyone should have.”

Of course.
I nod.

“We want the war with the Normals to end,” Daniel says.

I look back and forth between them. I can feel how much they mean what they say. How passionate they are. “I want that, too. But how?”

“With action,” Daniel says quietly. “Your blog—it was a great effort, Cait—but it was
talk
. To make effective change, we have to actually change the laws. Change people’s minds. And to do that, we have to change the ruling power.”

“I still don’t understand.”

“We’re talking about replacing the government with something more . . . equitable.”

“Replacing? But—?”

“I knew it would be too much for her,” Zack interjects, speaking for the first time. “She’s just a cosseted Para. She’s never been a Para-slave.”

I bristle, wanting to smack him. It’s not like things have been easy for me.

“Hey!” Daniel says sharply. “Caitlyn’s not like that.

She’s different.”

“We’ll see,” Zack says, his voice a snarl.

“I just don’t understand how you’ll do this,” I say.

“Three Paras—”

“Oh, there are a
lot
more of us than you see here,” Ilene says, laughter in her voice. Her huge, doelike eyes draw me 130

HUNTED

in. “We have Paras placed in positions of power all over the country, just waiting for our signal. Paras on the inside—

in the government, like your brother and me—and Paras on the outside. I myself oversee all the ParaTroopers in the state—and, of course, all the Paras under their control. Between us, your brother and I, and our contacts, we have a lot of clout.”

“Yes, but how—?”

“You know how Normals are big on appearances,” Daniel says patiently, “because they don’t know how to listen inside?”

I nod.

“Well, we’re going to capitalize on that. They’ll look at the Paras in positions of power—Paras passing as Normals like Ilene here—and trust them.” Daniel giggles suddenly.

“Ilene’s the one that got me positioned here, undercover—

to find you. You’ll find I’ll be in some of your classes. And for Government Paras who’ve aligned with the oppressors or been outed, we’ll use our . . . influence, the way I did earlier. Normals are very susceptible to the strongest of us.

And that’s where you come in.”

I shift uneasily. “I’m not sure how comfortable I am with that. It doesn’t seem quite . . . ethical.” Zack spits on the floor. “I
knew
she wouldn’t get it.”

“Give her a chance,” Ilene says.

“Caitlyn,” Daniel says, pain deep in his eyes, “we’re not doing anything like what they do to us. We’re not hunting them down and taking away their families and homes.

We’re not torturing them and we’re not killing them. We’re 131

Cheryl Rainfield

talking about influencing them to do what’s right.” Daniel cocks his eyebrow. “Do you think it’s okay, the way the government treats us? The way they treated me?”

“Of course not!”

“And don’t you think that if we can change things—if we can gain equality and freedom—we should?”

“Of course!” But I feel all muddled up inside. It doesn’t help that the woman who stole Daniel keeps smiling at me and that Zack keeps scowling. It makes it hard to think.

“Daniel—do you really believe this is the best way?”
I ask.

“Yes,”
Daniel sends passionately.
“With all my heart.”
I can feel how much he cares about this. How much he believes it’s right. “Then I’m in,” I say aloud.

Ilene approaches me and clasps my hand in hers. “Welcome!” she says.

132

CHAPTER 13

“What will you need me to do?” I ask.

“Influence Normals.”

“Who?”

“We’ll tell you when the time is right. Right now, we need you to practice.”

They don’t trust me, not completely—which I get.

They’re in a vulnerable position, making themselves known to me. But I’m vulnerable, too. And I’m irritated. I thought the point of all these tests was to trust me. But if we weren’t self-protective, most of us wouldn’t survive.

“Okay,” I say. “Show me how.”

Zack steps forward, holding out his hand. His scowl is replaced by a contrite look. “I misjudged you. I’m sorry.

Some Paras bury their heads in the sand—but I can see you’re aware of what’s what.”

“Thank you,” I say, shaking his hand, feeling oddly pleased.

“Come on,” Daniel says, jerking his thumb at the door.

He grins. “Let’s go practice on some Normals.” 133

Cheryl Rainfield

For a moment I feel like we’re kids again, standing on the corner near our house, listening in on all the people as they pass and trying not to burst into giggles. And then I remember where we are and the joy fades. I check my watch.

“I have social studies in ten minutes.”

“That’s perfect!” Daniel crows. “Let’s see if you can convince the teacher that you’re really there.” e

“Focus!”
Daniel sends crossly.
“This should be easy
for you. Your talent is so strong.
”

“
I
am
focusing!”
I snap back. But I’m an uneasy jumble of thoughts and emotions. I can’t help feeling that I’m invading someone else’s mind. More than invading—that I’m doing something almost abusive by trying to put a thought into her head, even if she is a Normal. Even if it’s something as harmless as convincing Ms. Edwards that I’m in class when I’m not.

“Do you think Normals think about ethics when they
strip us of our rights? Or when they torture us? Caitlyn,
you have to know how to protect yourself against them. And
how to protect the rest of us.”
I sigh and turn back to the open doorway. From where we’re standing, I can just see Ms. Edwards sitting on the edge of her desk. I like her. She’s one of the few teachers here that makes her subject come alive. She actually cares about the things she talks about, and I know she cares about us, too. It makes me all the more uncomfortable doing this to her. But I do it anyway.

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“Caitlyn Ellis is present. Caitlyn Ellis is present,”
I send like a mantra, putting all my focus into it.

Ms. Edwards rubs her forehead, looks up at the class.

“Caitlyn—will you come up here and pass these papers out? Caitlyn!”

Ms. Edwards looks around the classroom, her forehead wrinkling. “Where did she go? I swear I’m losing my mind.

Bobby, will you come up instead?”

Daniel high-fives me.
“You did it!”
he sends, ecstatic.

But I feel slimy. Ugly inside.

It’s both incredible and terrifying that I can control another person that way. It’s a talent no human should have.

It is too tempting, and in the wrong hands it could be dis-astrous. And how do I know that I won’t
become
the wrong hands if I use it too much?

Maybe the ParaWatch is right. Maybe we all
should
be under guard.

I smile weakly at Daniel, trying to shield my thoughts.

I don’t want another lecture.

“Now just do that a hundred more times and you might
catch up. Remember—you hold the lives of other Paras in
your hands. You have to be ready to use whatever abilities
you have to protect them—and yourself.”
He stands.
“I have
a lot to do today. But now you know where to find me.”

“Daniel—”
I reach for his arm. He flinches and I pull back, cursing myself for forgetting.
“Please think about
seeing Mom. Or at least letting me tell her that you’re
alive.”

Daniel scowls at me, but his scowl doesn’t hide the sudden sheen of tears in his eyes.
“I’m too different now,
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Cheryl Rainfield

Cait. I’ve been hardened by the torture. I know you’ve felt
it.”

I nod, reluctantly.

“Give me time. Let me get back to knowing how to be
a family with you. And then we’ll tell her—together.”
There’s a hesitation in his thoughts, like he wants to say something more, but I don’t probe it. I let him have his privacy.

I hoist my backpack over my shoulder and start down the hall. I’ve got to find another Normal to practice on.

“Caitlyn,”
Daniel sends.

I turn.

“I really am glad I found you.”
He smiles uncertainly, his vulnerability showing.

“I’m glad you did, too,”
I send with a rush of affec-tion.

e

Alex looks awkward when he sees me in English and I know he’s embarrassed to have broken down in front of me. But I love him for it; I love his vulnerability and his willingness to open up.

I smile at him, hoping he can see the caring and respect in my eyes. I worry, too, though. What if he makes the same connection Rachel did? He’s only just opened up to being pro-Para. Could I really trust him with my life?

I’m sure Daniel would think this the perfect opportunity to practice persuasion—that I should convince Alex to forget me, or maybe to be loyal to me forever. But I look at 136

HUNTED

Alex’s broad back, feel his gentle soul, and I can’t do it. Instead, I persuade Mr. Arnold not to look my way as I pull out my cell. I feel ashamed using my talent that way, but he’s a weasel and would hurt me if he had the chance.

I plug my earbuds in and watch another video of the robbery, scanning the background—but nothing I see tells me who could have done this, or why.

Rachel looks back and forth between me and Alex, worry emanating from her. Maybe she’s right to worry.

All around me, people are whispering about the robbery, speculating on how much money the Paras got away with and what they’ll do with it. No one doubts that it was a Para who did it. No one but Rachel, and now Alex, though not so fiercely. I want to shout at them all to think it through—why would a Para bring trooper attention to themselves? I can’t stand it that people are so full of hate that they assume it was a Para even when it doesn’t make sense.

And then a thought comes to me—a sneaky, appeal-ing, horrifying thought. I could use this new skill Daniel’s teaching me to convince the entire class of the truth. To make them see it.

I could make Alex a 100 percent bona-fide Para-supporter, and then we could hide out together, just the two of us, and never be separated.

No.
I recoil from the thought, my skin rippling. I can’t believe I even thought that. This Para-talent is powerful—

maybe too powerful for
anyone
to have. How do the other Paras Daniel’s taught keep themselves in check?

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Cheryl Rainfield

I feel cold inside. What the Normals can do to us—it’s horrible and wrong. But this—this is almost worse, because it’s so insidious.

I shake myself. No. Torture is worse. Kidnapping people, stripping them of their rights, taking their lives—all are far worse than any control I could exert. And I haven’t seen anyone misuse this skill yet. But the potential is there. Or maybe it’s only there in me. I’ll have to keep a close watch on myself.

When class ends, Alex strides toward me. “I didn’t hear anyone do anything but blame Paras,” he says quietly.

“‘Dirty, thieving, conniving, dangerous Paras.’ I never noticed how common the hatred is.” He looks at me hesitantly.

“But are you
sure
Paras didn’t do it?”

“It just doesn’t make sense,” I say, a vein thrumming in my throat.

“No, it doesn’t, does it?”

“Stop loitering and get to your next class,” Mr. Arnold says snottily behind us.

“We’re going!” Alex says, rolling his eyes at me. Then he nudges me toward the door and out into the busy hall.

The loudspeaker crackles. “Students—please be advised that because of recent unsettling events, all schools will now be staffed with a resident ParaTrooper who you can turn to if you need assistance, or if you notice any suspicious behavior. Government Paras will rotate through our area schools, and our ParaTrooper will arrive tomorrow morning. I expect you to treat him with the utmost respect and show him what patriotic citizens we are.” I swallow, my throat tight. It feels like the world is 138

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closing down around me—around all of us Paras—and that someone’s behind this, orchestrating it all. Daniel was right.

I walk fast away from everyone, my cell open, and log on to my blog. “Peeps,” I text. “Teen Para does NOT support the recent robbery that took place. Nor does she believe it really was Paras who committed the robbery. Every Para knows that we have to keep a low profile so the sea of hatred doesn’t drown us. No Para would take such a crazy risk. Don’t be fooled—it wasn’t us.” Just in the time it took me to write that, dozens more raging comments appear on my blog. I don’t know what else to do but what I’m already doing.

Even on the way back to the motel, I can see the effects of the news story. There are dozens more ParaWatch posters and flags up—on poles, on mailboxes, in the windows of houses and stores. People dart suspicious glances at one another as they pass by, their steps short and quick, like they want to get out of a storm.

e

For once, the motel owner isn’t at the window when I get back. I think that’s a good thing, but when I open the door, I’m hit with a burst of grief so strong it’s hard to keep standing. I step inside.

She’s not standing behind the counter. Not staring at the little TV in the cubby. Not chain-smoking as she watches me. But the grief comes in waves, pouring through me, making my heart hurt.

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Cheryl Rainfield

I hesitate. I hear sobs through the door behind the counter. I don’t know if I can take any more emotion today; I’m already so wrung out. But I don’t think I can ignore this, either.

I step behind the counter. The door is open a crack. I stand there, not sure what to do—and then I hear a deep, wrenching sob. I tap lightly on the door. The sobbing continues. I push open the door to see the motel owner—I don’t even know her name—curled up in a ball on the ground, her face red from crying, her cheeks wet. The grief is overwhelming.

I walk in, crouch down beside her, sending her comfort. Her boozy breath fills the air. “Can I help?” I ask.

“He left me!” the woman sobs brokenly. “He left me for another woman—and she wasn’t even younger! He said I wasn’t good enough!”

And in her head, I hear the echo, “You’re not good enough! You’re a worthless piece of shit!” I see an older man looking at her through alcohol-blurred eyes, his face hard—her father. “I don’t care if you die!” he says.

The grief cracks through her.

“He was wrong,” I say. “You are good enough. You’re better than anyone who could say that to you.” The woman starts brokenly sobbing again.

“It was cruel,” I say. “And you don’t need to be around anyone cruel. You don’t deserve to be treated like that.” The woman swipes at her eyes. “No, I don’t.” Her grief lessens a little, the old wound closing up. She props herself up on her elbow and stares at me. “What are you doing here? Who asked you to come in?”

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“I heard you crying,” I say awkwardly.

“I’m fine, I didn’t ask you to come in,” the woman says, sitting up abruptly. She swipes at her eyes again, as if that could stop the tears streaming down her cheeks. “Now leave me alone! Go!”

I feel her shame at having someone see her so vulnerable. I want to tell her that I don’t judge her, that I’d never use it against her, but instead I just leave.

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