Resist (21 page)

Chapter Twenty-Four

Tuesday Morning: Present

Cole doesn't join us for our morning run, and my fear bursts into full-on panic. No Cole. No information on where the meeting is. No contact with my unit outside the camp. Everything has gone horribly wrong, and concern for Cole and worry that I've returned to this hellhole for nothing threaten to overwhelm me. Malone might have left for the meeting already, and I don't have any ability to begin searching for answers. I survive my run only because the consequences of not surviving will make the situation worse.

At the end of it, the answers find me.

Everyone is caught off-guard by Cole's absence, and when Fitzpatrick meets us on our way to breakfast, my unit's confusion increases. Mine does too, but mostly what I feel is dread. Her icy gaze seeks me out with its usual contempt, but something else underlies her tone when she speaks. Some new flavor of venom.

Instantly, I know Cole is in as deep a pile of shit as I feared, and Fitzpatrick is choking on the knowledge. She expects
me
to fuck up. No one expects Cole to.

“Seven.” She says my name like a curse. “Malone's office. Now.”

I shiver, and I wrap my arms around myself. If Cole couldn't explain away what he was doing last night, it will be my fault. Last night was my plan. Kyle and Cole and my friends at RTC, and who knows how many innocent people in the future, will suffer because I'm going to fail to stop Malone. It's just as well that I'm missing breakfast because I'm sick to my stomach.

The despair eats at my insides as I head down the hall toward Malone's office. My hands shake, and I curse my useless brain. What good is being enhanced if I can't take down a normal human like Malone?

Two security guards stand sentinel inside Malone's doorway. The man has learned his lesson about never being alone with me. I'll give him that. As for the man himself, Malone sits at his desk, reading something on his computer and sipping tea. He idly waves for me to have a seat. With rueful humor, I remember a time when he used to offer me drinks when I was invited here.

I sit, and Malone keeps me waiting for almost two minutes before deciding to speak. “I'm sure you noticed HY1-One didn't participate in your unit's exercise this morning.”

“Hard to miss, sir.” I consider adding that Cole mentioned something about going off-site today in a way to probe for intel, but I decide it's better to say less. Malone must have a reason for calling me here, and it's best to give him nothing new to use against me. Sometimes you never know where an innocuous statement can lead.

Malone almost seems to be hoping for me to volunteer information because the lull in conversation stretches until it's as taut as a rubber band.

“I don't suppose you know what One was doing last night?” Malone asks at last.

My heart catches in warning. The question is ambiguous. Is it rhetorical or not? “No, sir.”

“He was trying to obtain information off my assistant's computer.”

Under other circumstances, I'd be amazed how many times my brain can silently scream the word
fuck
over and over again. “Sir?”

I don't blink and don't fidget. In fact, I barely move. I'm so tense I'm afraid anything I do will give away my lies, and I need to sell my ignorance.

I'm also acutely aware that my act might be a waste of time. Malone might already know I was involved, but if he doesn't, I have to do everything I can to convince him that I'm innocent. For my sake and everyone else's. I'm the only one now who has a chance at stopping Malone and RedZone.

Zero ideas how, but technically, a chance.

Malone folds his hands. “He's denying it, of course. And you are accomplished liars thanks to us. But unfortunately for One, we have you to contend with.”

I don't bother to feign confusion this time. I'm genuinely unsure what Malone is getting at.

“He was clever,” Malone continues. “He probably would have gotten away with it, but my assistant has been having computer trouble. Her machine isn't shutting down properly some of the time. So when the guard, who One managed to temporarily get rid of, noticed her computer was stuck in shutdown instead of off like it had been earlier, he investigated.”

Oh, you've got to be kidding me. We've been undone by a faulty computer? What kind of irony is this? My last plan was undone by a malfunctioning memory implant, and now I'm screwed because of a computer with shut-down issues?

“So security did some checking, and they discovered One used his access to get into the engineering labs earlier. Some equipment was missing—the sort of equipment that could have caused the type of malfunction in the guard's station that would have sent the guard to do a security check, leaving One alone with my assistant's computer.” Malone calmly sips his tea. “What do you think?”

I think we're fucked, and I think I need to think faster. Or at all.

I want to wet my lips but don't dare. “That's surprising, sir. I'm not sure what I have to do with it though.”

Malone sets the teacup down with a sigh. “What you have to do with it, Seven, is that you're clearly a bad influence on those around you. I can only assume whatever One was searching for, it had to do with you. He's so very protective of you. Again, I have to take some responsibility. I allowed this flirtation between the two of you after he brought you back. He seemed like such a loyal soldier that I thought he deserved the consideration. And you—well, I admit, I was interested to see whether letting you act on your feelings for someone I considered a positive role model would improve your behavior.”

I take in Malone's words impassively, but my mind races. At last I have an explanation for one of the many issues that's been bugging me. It's unimportant in this instant when my problems are so much bigger, but as with everything Malone cares to share, I file it away. Anything and everything might be useful one day because it's not looking like today is going to be the day I take him down after all.

“Unfortunately, that appears to have been a mistake.” Malone's whole posture changes. He's no longer relaxed, the calm dictator explaining my fate. He's furious. “I'm convinced you have a greater hold over One than I realized. That perhaps you said things to him while on the run that have gotten into his head. He'd want to trust you, Seven. The pull between his faith in us and his faith in you must have been stronger than I suspected. I think he broke into my assistant's computer, most likely because of things you said to him when you left.”

I open my mouth, but I have nothing to say to that. I'm not supposed to remember anything I might have told Cole.

Malone waves off my nonexistent objections. “You have no idea what you might have said or done. I'm aware, obviously. I'm the one who made sure of it. That's not why I brought you here. I did that because I want you to fully understand the consequences of your actions. I want you to see how other people—people you care about—will suffer because of your disobedience, so you will never do it again.”

“I already won't, sir.” The fear in my voice is real. What is Malone planning on doing to Cole? Oh, shit.

“No, I don't imagine you will, but the lesson is one that should be taught, regardless.” Malone gets up and carries his empty cup to the sideboard along the far wall. “You see, One was supposed to accompany me on a trip today in an official capacity. I was going to introduce him to important people in the intelligence community, people who he'd one day be working with closely. But instead, he's coming with me for far less flattering reasons.”

The pause that follows this speech unsettles me. Malone is waiting for me to ask what's going on. “Sir?”

“HY1-One is going to present a live demonstration, with himself as the subject, of our memory-alteration techniques. Just as we removed your act of insubordination from your memory, we will be removing his, and then some.”

“And then some?” The question tumbles out of my mouth, although I'm certain I don't want the answer.

“The HY1 line has always shown too much emotional instability. Too much humanity, if you will. It's where some of your problems stem from, and it's clear that's where some of One's stem from, at least where you are concerned. It's taken a lot of work, but we finally believe we have a method for muting those emotions. HY1-One will be our first test subject.”

I'm no longer faking anything. My horror is real, and it doesn't matter that Malone can see it. My lungs refuse to inflate with air. Pain strikes me motionless, but rage sets my blood coursing. I want to launch myself at Malone and strangle the evil out of him.

I
should have done it when I had the chance. I never should have let him live. This is what compassion got me. This is where those emotions I valued failed.

As if sensing what I'm thinking, the guards step closer. I have no doubt they'll attack—maybe shoot me—if I make anything so much as resembling a move toward Malone. No matter how much I long to kill him, I can't risk it.

Nonetheless, Malone must have sensed my fury too, and that was why he increased his distance before telling me his plans. He remains where he stands, not coming any closer. We all know I'm the fastest, best trained person in the room. Security only has a slight advantage because there are two of them, and they're armed.

“Remember this, Seven. This is your legacy.” Malone holds up a hand. “Right now, you're furious with me for taking One from you, I know. But don't worry because, assuming we're successful, the pain of this won't last much longer.” His voice is gentle again, suffused with false sympathy that only increases my anger. “After the demonstration with One, we'll use the same procedure on you. Who knows—possibly by the end of tomorrow, this will all be erased from your memory banks. You won't remember it, and better yet, you wouldn't care if you did. Take comfort in that. In the long run, what I'm doing is what will be best for you. For you, for HY1-One and eventually your entire unit. I think, in the end, you'll even thank me for it.”

At my sides, my hands curl into fists.
No, in the end,
I will kill you for it.

Chapter Twenty-Five

Tuesday Morning: Present

I'm back to being punished, or Malone simply isn't taking any more chances with me until I've been given my RedZone-developed lobotomy. Either way, the end result is the same. I'm not allowed to rejoin my unit, and I'm being thrown back in the same holding cell by the Es where I was stuffed when I first arrived.

Four security guards escort me down the dimly lit corridor. I try to take some pride in that, but since I'm not feeling deserving of their fear, I'm stuck seething in my rage.

It's a helpless, defeated sort of rage too. The worst kind, the type that shuts down any useful thoughts and forces your brain to run in circles. Like the proverbial hamster on a wheel inside someone's head, my thoughts race and race and go nowhere. Eventually, though, the hamster gets tired. I burn up my anger and collapse to the cot, sickened with defeat and feeling as big a failure as Fitzpatrick's always named me.

It's Fitzpatrick who sticks in my head. Beginning when we were eight, she ran us ragged through an obstacle course. It involved the usual sorts of maneuvers—walls and ropes to climb, mud pits to crawl through on your stomach, and a whole room with pendulums dangling from the ceiling. Some simply clobbered you if they made contact. Others could give you an electric shock. Still others, to this day, I'm not sure what they would have done, but I knew I didn't want to find out.

The obstacle course was more than just another demonstration of our burgeoning physical capabilities. It was a test that pit us against the normal human security personnel who worked for the camp. At what point in our training, and at how young an age, would we surpass them?

As such, it was also a test of the camp's scientists who messed with our brains and altered our DNA. And it was a test of Fitzpatrick's training. We'd been under her so-called care for three years at that point. Three brutal years that had already shaped my lifetime of hatred of her.

Although the course had been built up as a game for us, we were smart enough to realize that nothing at the camp was ever truly just a game. Our cuts and bruises and the damned emotional abuse left no doubt.

Running that course and fearing how I'd be judged is one of my first memories of Malone. He came to watch, naturally, though he stood impassively on the sidelines and never said anything to us. If he was nervous about our progress, he showed no clues of it. But Fitzpatrick was nervous, although I wasn't aware of it at the time. She must have wanted to impress Malone with how she was shaping us.

As I do so many times, it's her voice I hear in my head.

I'd finished my run of the course, having navigated the final room—the pendulum room—without a single hit. Sweaty, filthy and tired, yet proud, I was permitted to stand along the back wall while I recovered and watch the people after me.

Octavia came next. At that age, she was the fastest girl in our unit, and on most days, the fastest runner overall. She barreled into the pendulum room at top speed. But although we were being timed, the swinging obstacles required more finesse than force. Tiny Octavia must have thought she could manage both.

She couldn't, and halfway through she couldn't slow down in time to avoid being hit by one of the electric shock devices. As she lay on the mat, Fitzpatrick berated her from the sidelines.
Get up, you worthless wimp. Get up and finish this! Do not let them win.

That's what I hear in my head today.
Get up and finish this. Do not let them win.

While my eight-year-old self winced in sympathy for Octavia, she pulled herself together and finished the course. She was slower. Her time came in near or at the bottom for our unit. And we lost to the grownups that day. Fitzpatrick was pissed off.

We lost the next year too. But not on the third try. Once we turned ten, we won and we never stopped winning since. The only change from year to year was the time spread. It kept getting bigger. Not that Fitzpatrick was ever satisfied with our performance. There was always something each of us could have done better, a skill she made us focus on.

Get up and finish this. Do not let them win.

I lift my head from my knees and square my shoulders. Fitzpatrick is what I need. She might not know where Malone is taking Kyle and Cole, but she would be able to find out. And I know just how to persuade her to do it.

Somehow, I don't think she'll be proud of me for my perseverance.

The E's cellblock is far quieter during the day than it was on those nights when I tried to sleep down here. At first, I worry that maybe the Es have all been transferred to labs already, prepped for today's experiments. But when I sit quietly and concentrate, I can tell that's not the case.

Occasionally, I can hear them shifting about in nearby cells. Their footsteps are heavier than normal ones, and a few seem to have eerily metallic voices. Sometimes all I hear is a plaintive whine whose precise origin is a mystery. Once, these sounds would have chilled me, but today they reassure me that I'm not alone.

That's good because what I'm planning is not only reckless, but probably crazy. Unfortunately, it's all I can come up with under the circumstances. Given my recent track record on plans, that's worrisome, yet I have nothing left to lose at this point. I'd rather be killed in the usual ways than have the very essence of who I am destroyed by Malone.

Get up and finish this. Do not let them win.

Fitzpatrick can be so unintentionally inspiring.

I'm pacing my tiny cell, playing through all the steps involved in my plan, when someone finally gets around to feeding me. Since it's too early for lunch, someone must have realized I missed breakfast and is trying to correct the error. Our calories and nutrition are carefully monitored and controlled so it's not pity, but rather another example of how we're treated like lab rats. But the reasons for the visit don't matter. All that does is getting a faster start on my plan.

My stomach grumbles, displeased that it's still being denied. I tell it to shut up as the electronic lock clicks in my cell door.

I have one chance at this. If anything beyond my control occurs, it's all over for me and everyone else. Therefore every single one of the details within my control must be perfect. The thought is somehow comforting. I've been an emotional Sophia mess lately. I'm proud of that person I became, but turning her off temporarily is also a relief. There is respite in numbness.

As the door opens, my mind clears. My hunger pangs vanish. My muscles loosen. Little does Malone understand that when I am HY1-Seven, as I will always be to him, that I'm the least emotionally vulnerable. I can be what he wants me to be. Most of the time, I just choose not to.

For what I hope will be the last time, I am his damned robot assassin. And the two security guards with my food are not expecting it.

Before the door can fully open, I lunge at the closest guard. He's holding me at gunpoint, but he's not prepared for such a sudden attack. I've locked my hands around his arms and tossed him behind the cot, which I've strategically moved into the center of the cell, before he knows what hit him. The second guard is forced to drop the food tray in order to reach for his side arm, and that gives me a second to work with. I get to his weapon before he does, slam him into the door and snatch his radio and badge. Then, while he's flailing in his attempt to fight me off, I shove him inside the cell and lock the door.

By my estimation, odds are at least three guards have witnessed my revolt on their monitors somewhere in this complex. Stealing the guard's radio wasn't so I could prevent him from calling the incident in. It was just so I could eavesdrop on the chatter.

Meanwhile, the guard outside the cellblock will be putting the area on lockdown. It's supposed to take him no more than five seconds in an emergency. Even at my fastest, I can't make it to the door before then.

The only thing I can do is destroy the lock first. With two seconds remaining, I fire my stolen gun at the door's locking mechanism. Once. Twice. All around me, an alarm sounds and lights flash. The control panel by the door sputters and dies in a hail of sparks.

Now it's worth my time to dash. Security will be mobilizing, and I no longer have surprise on my side. I need to give these people something more to worry about than me.

Grunting, I pull open the broken doors at the end of the corridor. The lone guard at the station is on her radio, calling in backup. When I burst through, she drops the radio and raises her side arm. I'm expecting it and am already diving for the shelter of her desk.

A second later, I pop up and tackle her from behind. She goes down, and I push her limp body aside to get to the controls. I need her security badge for this, as well as the one I stole from the guard in my cell, but the ability to unlock an E's cell is not nearly as restricted a behavior as it could be. Security needs to go in and out of those cells every day to take Es to the labs. I wouldn't call the procedures involved lax, but for me, they aren't a challenge to override.

I throw open all the cell doors at once.

The alarms, the flashing lights—it's gotten the Es riled up. If they were mostly sleeping before, they are all wide awake by the time their cages inexplicably open. And the rush of noise that follows—confused and triumphant, even insanely gleeful—at any other time would have made the hairs on my neck stand on end.

Even now, I shiver at the knowledge of what I've done. Some of the Es might understand that I'm the one who freed them and leave me alone, but there's no guarantee. I've put myself in as much danger as I have everyone else. I can only promise myself the cause is worthy, and the camp has the resources to keep the damage contained within its boundaries.

Thanks to the radio, I know security is on their way. The guard I knocked out blinks up at me, her face filled with horror. Those inhuman footsteps are coming this way in all their blind rage.

I grab the guard's gun and hand her back her radio. She wasn't unconscious for long, but even a second or two means she likely has a concussion. Unlike in the silly movies I watched at RTC, there's no shaking off such a thing. When those Es figure out where to go, she'll be helpless.

“Get on the radio,” I tell her. “Use your clearance to call Fitzpatrick and find out where she's heading, and I'll carry you out of here.”

The guard blinks again, longer. I'm afraid the damage I've done to her is too great for her to respond, then one of the Es lets out a bone-chilling scream. A blast rocks the forced-open security door.

Without a word, the guard snatches the radio from me. Her voice trembles initially, but she puts through a recognizable identification code in a message for Fitzpatrick.

I grab the radio from her before she can attempt to be sneaky and add anything else. Leaving the channel open, I pick up the guard just in time and throw her over my shoulder. The first of the Es burst through the doorway with hellacious cries and begin pummeling the guard station. Behind me, glass shatters and metal shrieks, but the noise is nothing to the way the Es are incoherently yelling.

The guard grabs my back, screaming, and I take off down the hallway. Debris from the destroyed guard station flies by my head. Luckily, the Es are no better at aiming during a fit of madness than the average human.

“Get us past your friends,” I tell the guard, setting her down outside a new set of security doors.

I kill the locking mechanism on these doors too, ensuring the Es can follow. Although I suspect many of the Es with their strength, which is super-human even by my standards, could rip the doors from the walls, why take chances when I'm in need of maximum distraction?

The guard is still recovering when I pull her into a carefully chosen stairwell with me. This location should see the least security rushing to the scene, but we encounter a squad on our way up. Since the guard with me is noticeably injured, the others rush by us, acknowledging the info she manages to convey, but paying little attention. Because she says nothing about me, and the others are so concerned with the E breach, they don't notice that I have her at gunpoint. We continue our way to the surface, unimpeded.

“In here.” I drag the guard into a bathroom.

While I hadn't counted on the guard being a woman since fewer than one-third of the camp's guards are, I decide it's worth it to take advantage of the situation. She's close enough to my size that I force her to exchange uniforms with me. Such a maneuver won't hide me from an AAD, and probably not even a CY, but it provides a level of anonymity from any quick glances by human security.

I leave the guard tied up in the bathroom and take off, holding on to her side arm and ID. During a security breach of this magnitude, trainees are under orders to return to their quarters and await instruction. My unit, on the verge of no longer being considered in training, will probably be mobilized to assist in the fight. But first, they must follow protocol.

I have to get to Fitzpatrick before she gets to them or my plan becomes infinitely more challenging. Fitzpatrick too has to follow protocol, along with all of the camp's non-civilian staff. Because of the guard's assistance, I know where Fitzpatrick should be heading, and I race across the grounds, hoping I can cut her off. Given her leg wound, she shouldn't be able to get there too quickly.

With my stolen uniform and a much bigger problem to deal with than me, camp security pays me no mind. I see snipers taking up positions on guard towers, hear engines starting in the distance and hold my breath while a unit of CYs marches out of their quarters and disperses across the camp to assist with containing the Es.

No one bothers me. My name was never mentioned on the radio. The guard who called in the incident didn't have time to identify me as its cause before I freed the Es, thus creating a far more pressing and dangerous situation. And so, the radio chatter concerns only that problem. It's getting bigger, getting worse by the second.