MILA 2.0: Redemption (25 page)

It was just a hunch, but I knew how to give it more certainty.

Initiate natural language processing.

Comparing sample to known subjects.

A few seconds passed, filled with the grunts of aching lungs behind me and the
squish-squish
of our pumping feet.

Match found: 94% accuracy.

The image appeared, complete with data on name, birthday, and any other information my memory had stored within its depths. My memory confirmed what my gut had known for a while now.

General Holland.

He’d been emailing with Grassi, at length.

This was just the link we needed.

Pausing at the door, I filled Lucas in. He, too, had some incriminating information.

Grassi is an alias, for one thing. The man in the photo is named William Shell. The numbers on the photo refer to my uncle’s—Holland’s—old army regiment. That’s where he and Grassi met. My uncle had a pin, exactly like that tattoo. The tattoo is of a symbol their entire troop adopted. And the pin had ended up at the fire that killed Sarah.

Did that mean Holland had set it himself? He didn’t match Maggie’s description. And why would he do that, anyway?

We’d reached the door. The security camera was dead and the door was ajar, just as Abby had described.

A quick scan didn’t alert me to any threats, so I motioned
Hunter and Samuel to follow me in. The room was almost as dark in the daytime as it had been last night. Since neither Hunter nor Samuel had a flashlight this time, we had to slow way down to make sure no one tripped.

“Each of you, keep a hand on my arm. I don’t want anyone wandering off.” Using my night vision, I traced last night’s path through the room, past the appliance boxes and scattered tools. Nothing had been touched.

Nothing, that was, except the secret passage to the basement. The entry was flung wide open.

“Trapdoor, two feet ahead,” I warned the boys. With me as a stabilizer, they tapped out the edge with their feet.

“I’ll go first,” Samuel said, before turning and feeling his way to the metal stairs. Hunter prepared to follow. While I waited my turn, I kept on scanning files.

The dean, it turned out, was completely in the dark about this building. He thought it was full of cutting-edge computer equipment in boxes, just waiting for construction to begin on a state-of-the-art lab. He wasn’t even part of the selection process for the Watson Grants.

Then I began listening to an audio file as I followed the others down the rickety stairs. Grassi must have recorded this conversation for his records.

“Hannah matches Sarah in terms of synapse rate and her adaptability looks like it may surpass. How do you want to proceed?”

Something swelled in my throat. That was Grassi’s
smooth, polished voice. Talking about Sarah as casually as he might mention the weather.

But the slow, answering drawl was one that laced my every fear, haunted my past, and threatened my future. I tasted bile—programmed? remembered? real?—but continued to play the conversation.

“Continue testing,” said General Holland. “We don’t want any issues this time. But that sounds promising. The next step is to integrate the brain with the robotic enhancements. The others?”

“A mixed lot, though a couple show more potential than others. I’ll keep at it, though. I think you were right about less machine, more human hybrids. Much less work, and they seem to mostly respond well to mind control via remote interface.”

“Well, we need to hurry up and find more subjects,” Holland said, his impatience clear. “Maybe we should lower the study qualifications. Forget the minimum IQ, and run PETs on any available teen who can talk and chew gum at the same time. We have orders for thirty already, and more are trickling in.”

Far from the first time in my life, I realized truth didn’t always set you free. Sometimes the truth swooped down and flattened you with its lack of mercy.

Holland never intended to stop with the MILAs. I was just part of the first batch of his unauthorized human-machine hybrids, and he was already working on more. The
kids we’d come to know would be transformed. Ruined. And soon Holland would have an army of others, just like them.

My every cell turned to ice; I feared the barest tap would crack me into a million sharp pieces. I couldn’t move for terror of falling into an abyss and never climbing my way out. These men played with human lives like they were clay figures to be smashed and re-formed at their slightest whim.

In my haze of despair, my foot slipped on the step. I lurched back, sliding down until Samuel grabbed my waist to break my fall.

“Let me know before you’re going to do any more tricks,” he said. “A man needs a little warning. Especially in this crap lighting.”

“Everything okay?” Hunter asked.

“No. But it will be as soon as we take these bastards down.”

We made our way through the downward-sloping tunnel while I texted to fill Lucas and Daniel in.

They were also analyzing the data, and their findings expanded what we knew.

W.A.T.S.O.N. stands for: Weaponized Android Testing Sub-Operations Network

Holland and his cronies referred to studies about the malleable, adaptable brains of teenagers. They’d found the neurological parameters that interfaced the best with
technology, and ordered PET scans on any teens at hospitals within the rounds privileges of three specific Philadelphia-area surgeons, who reached an IQ of 130 or over. Sarah had been the first teen identified and drafted—without her knowledge.

I heard a choked noise in the background, pulverizing the pump that masqueraded as my heart. Daniel. If all this was painful for me to process . . .

A steady roar gathered in my ears, my core, my cells. Tears streamed down my face. If we failed to stop Holland, then no child was safe. Not Hannah, not Claude, not bright or motivated high schoolers all around the country.

That was our answer, then. We couldn’t fail.

Our beautiful girl, and all he ever saw was fresh brain matter for his research. That son of a bitch knew. He failed to keep her at Montford, but he still wouldn’t let her go. First, he planned that fire to steal my baby girl. And then he knew Nicole would cave if it was a choice between making Sarah’s life count for research or just fade away.

The keening pain in his voice almost made me stumble again. As I steadied myself, I realized we were closing in on the end of the corridor.

I’m so sorry. But at least we can save Hannah. At least we can save her. Are you guys almost here?

Yes, we’re—

Static shrieked through my head, canceling everything else. I clapped my hands to my ears and stumbled yet again. For the first time I could remember, my mind was silent.

On each side, someone grabbed my elbow to steady me.

“What’s wrong?” Samuel said.

The sound vanished as quickly as it had come.

Daniel? Lucas?

No response.

How had I lost the signal? My sensors? My hands clutched my abdomen. Could it be related to the bomb? Holland knew about Lucas, and Tim was missing. Had he finally decided “what the hell,” and triggered it with his remote?

“Just a malfunction,” I said. I decided to keep my concerns to myself for now, even as my dread thickened. Maybe something—or someone—had cut them off.

We reached the corner. As we took the bend, the hall ahead widened, opening into the larger arena we’d seen the previous night.

On the far side of the room, we spied two figures.

Abby had her back to us, and Hannah was lying down.

“Abby!” Hunter called, sprinting ahead while I paused to assess the scene. Abby’s positioning. It looked awkward. She was on her knees by the body, but her shoulders were bunched and I couldn’t see her hands.

I tried to initiate a scan, but only got a headful of static. Interference.

Something was off. “Hunter, wait—”

Abby looked over her shoulder. Her eyes were wide, frantic above the slash of silver duct tape that covered her mouth.

In that one moment, everything became clear.

This was a trap.

“Damn it,” Samuel roared as he ran for Abby. I whirled, feeling hobbled without my android abilities. We needed to protect our exit.

Too late, I heard the march of feet coming from the passageway. An imposing figure melted out of his shadowy hiding spot. The light caught him just so, and for an instant, I saw a mist-and-light man. But he took another step and that fairy tale vanished. This was no hologram.

He emerged with Abby’s phone dangling from his hand.

“Guess I won’t be needing this anymore,” General Holland drawled, giving the phone a distasteful look before letting it clatter to the floor. His jeans and Windbreaker couldn’t disguise his proud military bearing. From under his jacket, he withdrew a gun and aimed it loosely at Hunter. With the other hand, he grabbed a Taser.

To the outside world, he probably looked like an attractive older man. His face held weathered lines, but his eyes were bright and he had a full head of silver-streaked hair. But I knew the real Holland; I knew the dark soul his outer shell concealed. When I looked at him, all I saw was a monster.

“How—?” I choked my question off, not wanting to
give him the satisfaction. But the question finished in my head. How had he snuck up on us like this? With Lucas monitoring his cell phone?

Holland always had an eerie way of reading me. He watched my face now and chuckled. “Did you really think I wouldn’t realize my nephew was tracking me, once I discovered he was with you?”

I scanned the distance from me to him; the distance from him to Abby. The distance back to the exit. Abby was bound and Hannah was hurt, but there were three of us to his one. If I could get between the others and the gun, they might have a chance. I might have tried, if it weren’t for the fact that the footsteps were closer now. Much closer.

Holland tilted his head, hearing them too. His faint smile was pleasant, if you didn’t know better. “I told you I always win.”

In walked the other four grant kids. They barely glanced our way. Instead, they marched over to the floor near Abby and took a seat.

The only one who faltered was Ben. He gave the rest of us a sleepy-eyed look. “Are they joining the club too?” he asked, before plopping down on the floor a short distance away.

“Is this a new simulation?” Sharon wanted to know.

Maybe if I could reason with them, get them out of Holland’s grip . . .

I blurted, “He’s put chips in your heads. He’s experimenting on your brains. Don’t let him control you—help us!”

But they didn’t even glance my way.

I wanted to scream at them. To tell them to run if they wouldn’t help us. To get out now. But of course, it was far too late. Two adult figures emerged from the hallway, trailing the students.

Grassi, of course. I’d been expecting him. But the other man stole my breath away, like Holland had just punched me in the gut.

He met my eyes, and not a trace of expression flickered on his face.

Both of them withdrew guns.

In that moment, my heart broke. For the Watson kids, who were still completely clueless about what was going on, and who, by the looks of it, were halfway to becoming Holland’s army. For Hunter, who hadn’t been a part of this life until he’d met me. For Samuel and for Abby and yes, even for me.

For Daniel, who couldn’t stand to lose me twice.

And for Lucas. Because he’d been betrayed. We both had.

Otherwise, Tim wouldn’t be standing there, pointing a gun at Samuel and Abby.

Lucas must have let some tiny detail slip when he’d sent those check-in emails to the supply store. Either that or,
despite Lucas’s caution, Holland had somehow managed to trace them.

In trying to ensure his brother’s safety, Lucas had forfeited his own.

My hands itched to make contact with Tim’s face.

Holland didn’t budge, but watched me, smiling when he saw the shock sink in. My hands flexed. I remembered the feeling of his throat beneath them as I exerted a crushing pressure.

I should have killed him then.

“You son of a—”

The burst of rage that gripped me was a violent thing, hot and pulsating. It was a crack of lightning, flashing across the sky to blacken the tallest tree. For a second, I allowed the energy to fill my body, corrupting every cell. But I caught sight of Hunter as he tried to remove the binding from Abby’s hands, and the image transported me. Back to Quinn’s lab, to the outburst she’d stoked and steered.

I wiggled my fingers, rolled my shoulders back. Shoved the rage away until the feeling subsided like a retreating wave. It would never vanish completely, though. I knew that. Not while this man lived.

“Why is he here?” I nodded at Tim, proud of the steadiness I summoned.

“Didn’t Lucas tell you about his big brother, Tim? Always a mess-up. I had to bail him out of trouble. Drugs.
Despicable waste. He paid me back, though. When Sarah . . . failed . . . at Montford, I had to do something. I couldn’t let her tell others what she’d seen. But I couldn’t do away with her myself, of course—too recognizable. So I sent Tim instead. It’s amazing what people will do to stay out of army prison . . . and get their next high.”

Tim didn’t say anything. He didn’t try to refute Holland’s claims. He just kept the gun pointed at Samuel.

I remembered Maggie’s description of the man she’d seen, just before the fire. Not Holland, but Holland’s lapdog. Who’d left his master’s pin behind.

All that time, in the Bitterroot mountains. I’d been sleeping in the same house as Sarah’s killer. I flashed to Tim’s erratic moods, his inability to look at me, his downright bizarre behavior. I’d chalked it up to a combination of alcohol and shame.

“Lucas?” I said. Knowing the answer from the triumphant gleam of Holland’s eyes.

“Don’t worry. We’ll take you to them soon,” he said.

At Holland’s bidding, Tim and Grassi approached the students. With Grassi covering him, Tim bound each of their hands in turn. They seemed to think it was part of the simulation; Sharon’s head jerked up when they touched her arm, but none of them bothered to struggle. Only Ben backed away a few feet.