Revive (21 page)

Chapter Twenty-Two

Sunday Afternoon: Present

Kyle. Oh, shit.

Kyle. Kyle. KYLE.

I must say his name aloud as I push Cole away because he looks at me as if I slapped him. “What? Who's that?”

I put one hand over my mouth and steady myself against a tree with the other. The world's spinning. I'm spinning, or my stomach is. I cannot vomit in fron
t of Cole. Kissing him aside, that's just humiliating.

“Sev, talk to me.” Cole stands several feet away and makes no move to help me. I hurt him by saying Kyle's name, but he hurts me by calling me Seven. Why doesn't he call me Sophia in private? He'll kiss me, but he won't use the name I want?

More importantly, why am I pondering these things now? It's ridiculous.

No, it's shock. Snap out of it and remember your training.

I dig my fingers into the bark, and it crumbles. “Kyle is X.”

Kyle is X. Kyle is in danger. Bad people were coming, so I took him to South Station with me—why? Had the other group found out about him too? Had something happened at the dance that I'm still forgetting? Were those people coming to RTC?

I sent him back to RTC by himself. Oh, shit. If Kyle's captured or dies, it'll be my fault.

So why am I standing here? If Fitzpatrick knew, she'd scream at me and she'd be right to. “I've got to go to Malone.”

Cole touches my arm, and I shiver. I'm so cold I feel like I'll never get warm again, yet I'm sweating in fear. “You remember? Sev, that's great. Let's go.”

“No, it's not great.” We take off, running through the woods. “I knew yesterday morning, and something bad was going down. We could be too late.”

“Don't say that. Whatever happened to you, no one could have counted on your memories rebooting.”

A branch whacks me in the leg. “When did Malone tell you about my memories? I just found out myself.”

“Same as you. He told me while you were getting changed after the scan.” Cole gets out his phone and calls Malone.

While I wait for him to get through, my mind continues to spin. Better it than my stomach, but the questions are dizzying.

“Seven has X's name,” Cole's telling Malone. “We're heading to your office now.”

“Excellent,” I hear Malone say. “Put her on.”

Cole hands me the phone. In my haste to grab it, I nearly drop it. “His name's Kyle Chen. We need to hurry. I think he's in danger.”

“Is he? I'm working on the logistics. Come to my office.”

I hand the phone back to Cole as we leave the woods. Malone tells him to escort me to his office if I need the help, but otherwise he's to go to lunch.

“I know the way,” I tell him, breaking into a run.

I sprint the entire distance to the main building. Malone's assistant gives my appearance a disgusted look and points at the elevator without a word. Normally, I'd want to return the expression, but all I can think about is making sure Kyle's safe. And that this means I might get to see him again if it's not too late.

I don't know what causes more self-loathing: breaking my brain and possibly failing Kyle because of it, or being so selfish that amidst all this danger, I'm happy because of the possibility of seeing him once more.

“Come in.” Malone holds his arms out in welcome then motions for me to sit.

I'd rather keep moving. This nervous energy is killing me, but I do as instructed.

Malone's phone buzzes, and he raises a finger in my direction before answering. “Chen. Kyle Chen. We'll get you a photo.”

“I have a recent photo of him,” I say when he hangs up. “It's on my phone.”

“Your phone's in your backpack?”

I nod.

“Perfect.” Malone unlocks the closet behind his desk, and there's my pack. “I've been holding on to it in case you needed to return to school soon. It looks like you have some of your classwork in there.”

Malone sets the bag on the desk, and I retrieve the phone. None of the bag's contents have been disturbed, and I assume Malone was too busy to go through it or simply uninterested in my artistic endeavors.

I scroll through my folders, not remembering taking half as many pictures as I find. Some are of random students who I must have been keeping an eye on. Others are places around RTC. There's one folder labeled “friends” that has several pictures of Kyle, Audrey and others. I swallow down the lump in my throat and select a useful one of Kyle. “Here, I'm sending it to you.”

“And I'm sending it on.” Malone presses several buttons on his phone. He's fighting it, but I can tell he's come as close to bouncing as he probably can get. I'd say he was almost downright giddy with relief.

I clear my throat. “I think Kyle might be in danger.”

Malone's not-quite-giddiness vanishes. He sits, frowning. “Yes, that's right. Why do you think that? Tell me what you remember.”

“Not much other than that. I figured out Kyle was X on Friday night, but something must have happened later.”

“Because you didn't contact me immediately.”

And because I dragged Kyle away from campus. “Yeah. I'm worried that I might have been discovered and I can't remember it.”

Absently, I rub my neck, and that causes Malone to sit up straighter. “Possible. It might explain how your tracker got removed. Did you tell Kyle anything?”

“Kyle? I don't know. I don't think so.”

Malone rests his fingertips together and ponders the ceiling. “Interesting. And we don't know how much Kyle knows about his unique abilities.”

“Oh, he knows. At least he knows that he doesn't heal like a normal person, but he must have figured that out pretty young. When he got hurt on Friday—that's how I found out—he tried to cover it up.”

“I see. I warned you there was a chance X wouldn't want to be found. To know there's something strange about yourself that no one can explain… Could be terrifying to be told the truth of it all. He might not react well.”

I consider this. “Kyle's smart, but yeah. That could be tough. But it doesn't explain anything about me.”

“Well.” Malone coughs. “You could have told him, he panicked, and because you're kind, you gave him time to adjust before reporting in.”

He says it lightly, but there's nothing light about it. That would be a direct violation of my orders.

Besides, would I?

I love Kyle. My feelings for him aren't the same as they are for Cole, but they're just as strong. And that's why I want to protect Kyle. Letting him adjust while others are after him wouldn't make sense. I'd be endangering him. “No. I wouldn't do that.”

“I don't believe you would, but I'm thinking aloud, trying to cover the possibilities. Perhaps one of them will trigger a memory. What triggered this one, by the way?”

Kissing Cole? Oh, shit. I certainly can't tell Malone that.

“Not sure. It wasn't related to anything I was doing at the time.” Besides feeling guilty for kissing the wrong boy. I'm going to have to create a cover story with Cole. He's not going to want to get caught, either.

Malone gets up and gives my shoulder a shake. “I bet it's because you were trying so hard to remember. You gave that information priority. I knew we could rely on you, Seven. You did well. Whatever else happened, I'm sure those memories will return soon too. Now relax and leave it to others to find this boy and keep him safe.”

Assuming Kyle's at RTC and can be found. But Cole and Malone are right. I can't dwell on the possibility that he's not. It's too late to do anything about it.

“Sir, may I ask a favor?”

Malone sits on his desk. “Certainly. What is it?”

“If it's possible, I'd like to be part of the team that goes to get Kyle. I was friendly with him, and as you said, this could be scary. It might calm him if he sees a familiar face.”

And me. It would definitely calm me to know he's okay.

“I'm afraid I already sent in a couple operatives who are in the Boston area. Given your concern that you or Kyle might have been discovered, I didn't want to waste time sending a team from here. You understand?”

I nod. It makes sense, and I feel silly for asking. I just hope that whoever Malone sent, they aren't the same two guys I made Kyle run from yesterday. That would really freak him out.

My fault. Again. Ugh.

“Then may I see him when he arrives? If he's coming here, that is.”

“He is. As soon as our meeting is over, I'll be in getting in touch with my contact at the CIA. Kyle will be transferred to a more secure location, but they'll need time to finalize the arrangements. So yes, I'll see to it that you get a chance to visit him before he leaves.” Malone stands and gives me another shake. “You did as well as I could have hoped on this. Now, go get yourself some lunch. And it's up to you whether you want to attend your afternoon classes or keep working on your recall.”

Lunch, yeah right. My stomach is too uneasy to eat, but I thank Malone and leave his office.

Halfway down the hall, I wish I'd asked for another favor—to have the photos off my phone. My mission is over. Really over. I'm never going to see Audrey or Yen or Chase again, and I never got to say goodbye.

Then down the elevator more answers come to me, followed by more questions.

Kyle was confused yesterday morning. He could tell something was bothering me, but he had no idea why I'd brought him to South Station. So clearly I hadn't told him anything, and I wasn't giving him time to adjust.

What was I playing at then? What was I planning on doing to Kyle? Was there some reason I couldn't get through to Malone or anyone else at the camp Friday night? Or was I withholding information about Kyle on purpose?

“Are you malfunctioning?” Malone's assistant asks.

I twitch and realize I've stopped in the middle of the doorway. But still—malfunctioning? Is she serious? Like I'm some CY? I pull my shoulders back. “I'm fine. Thanks for asking.”

“Then shut the door. You're letting cold air in here.”

Shooting her a nasty look, I storm outside then hurry to the mess before it's too late and I miss lunch. Malone has confidence in me. Cole has confidence. I'll figure this out. The important thing is that I rediscovered who X is, and Malone's sending people after him.

In order to avoid spending more awkward time with Cole, I take advantage of the fact that Malone rescinded his earlier order. I pass the afternoon doing the usual routine with my unit, and am relieved to see little of Fitzpatrick during it.

My head's not in my training though. Malone might have been onto something when he said I'd been concentrating my recall effort on X. Now that I've retrieved the information, it's like a blockage has been removed in my chip, or perhaps a circuit is reconnected. The speed with which my memories return increases. When I estimate the chunks of my life that are still unaccounted for, I decide I might be back to normal by late tomorrow morning.

This is distracting because it's hard to focus on anything else. But this is good because some of those gaping holes can't be closed fast enough. Unfortunately, the remaining memories continue to return randomly. Or what appears random to me. I suspect what's happening is that each memory triggers another memory, and these triggers spread out like a web in my brain. There's a pattern, but I'm not consciously aware of it.

I make a note of this theory for Malone. Finally, something that makes sense.

Nothing else does, but I have to trust the rest of my confusion will clear. So I turn my worrying to a new question: what will Kyle say when he learns the truth about me?

I want to see him so badly and make sure he's okay, yet this new fear is almost as bad as the old. It
would
have been easier if he was the enemy. Then we'd be even. I was lying; he was lying. Even if we worked for opposing sides, he'd understand what I'd done and the reasons why. He couldn't look down on me for using AnChlor at RTC, or breaking into his room, or any hundred other things that were legally dubious but ethically right because if he were the enemy, then he would have been working on a mission that was ethically wrong.

My choices were the right ones, weren't they?

I can't help but think that if I truly believed that, then I wouldn't feel so anxious about Kyle's opinion.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Sunday Evening: Present

I need to talk to Jordan, but my afternoon consists of music practice and cultural studies, and those split us up. I don't see her again until our last session of the day. That's security systems, and it's not the sort of class that allows for private discussions. As a bonus, my three-month absence is painfully noticeable. We're in the middle of some lesson about a top-secret cyber-defense system the Chinese are working on, and I'm lost.

It's not until dinner that I can finally talk to her. I'm starving because I felt too sick to eat lunch, and unfortunately, my feelings haven't changed much.

I drag my fork around the pile of salty white goo on my plate, euphemistically dubbed creamed chicken over rice. Gross as it looks, I don't actually hate it. Something about the neural implants affects our sodium levels, so I like pretty much anything that has salt in it.

“What is it?” Jordan says. “You're acting mopey. One told us you successfully completed your mission. You should be celebrating.”

The mess is not the best place for this conversation, but I don't foresee a better one. With all the chaos around us—the HY2s and 3s are a noisy bunch—this might be my best shot.

I begin carefully, keeping my voice low. “I know it's stupid, but the more memories I get back, the more I miss Boston. Not the actual college, I mean. The people. It's weird to think I'll never see them again. Some of them were really nice.”

Jordan and Summer lean forward. “So tell us more,” Jordan says. “We've been dying for details. You can tell us what it was like without revealing the secret stuff, can't you?”

I can, easily. It's not what I want to talk about, but telling them about Audrey and Yen—and to a limited degree, Kyle—allows me to gauge how closely the others are listening. So I go on about the boring classes, the Games, exploring the city, the food, art class and the aquarium, and every funny, non-revealing anecdote I can think of.

My stomach relaxes enough for me to eat, but my food's cold now. Salty it might be, but that doesn't improve the flavor.

“What was the dance like?” Summer asks as I cram congealing chicken goop in my mouth.

The dance. Damn it. What did I bring that up for?

I chew slowly, but we have ten more minutes until dinner ends. Although I might have to talk my way around this, it's the opening I need, if I can take advantage of it.

Gabe sits next to Summer, and Cole sits next to me, but they're both paying more attention to Eva, who's outlining the method she used to crack some code earlier. I think I'm free to talk.

I hope I am because here I go. “I don't remember much about the dance. There was music, and I was wearing some dress, and it was way too hot. They decorated the tables with flashy lights and fake snow. Malone had asked me to do something there, and I really want to remember if I did it, but I can't.”

During the afternoon, it had occurred to me that this might be the missing piece. Perhaps I planned to do something drastic—hopefully not bomb the hotel, but something less crude and more clever—and the mysterious enemy who was after Kyle discovered me.

It could be why I dragged Kyle away.

It does not explain why I delayed informing Malone, but I can think of reasons for that too. Maybe they came for me that night, captured me, and I couldn't call. Maybe they tried forcing me to give up the information on Kyle, and by the morning I escaped. Then I threw together a few items, got Kyle and ran with him to somewhere I thought we'd be safe.
Then
I planned to call, but my implant failed first.

It's the best theory I have.

Jordan soaks a piece of broccoli in her leftover sauce. “If it was something for your mission, you must have done it because you got the info.”

“I don't think I did, or not exactly what Malone suggested anyway.” I lower my voice further and lean over my tray. “His suggestion horrified me. I couldn't go through with it. At least I don't think I could have. I found out what I needed by accident.”

There's an irony here that occurs to me as I confess my anxiety. If I were at RTC, this information would be easy enough to discover. A gas explosion at a hotel? That would make the news. But here at the camp, our Internet access is heavily restricted and monitored. A story like that wouldn't make the news sites we have available.

Jordan raises an eyebrow, and I know she's silently asking what Malone wanted me to do. With my fork, I write into my leftover sauce:
BOMB THE DANCE
. The sauce swallows up each letter after it's formed.

Summer winces, and Jordan mouths a few interesting swears.

Cole must catch her from the corner of his eye. “Language, Nine. You make some of the older men here sound like saints.” He lobs a balled-up napkin at her.

“Of course I do.” She tosses her braids. “We're supposed to be better at everything. I take my cursing seriously.”

“Yeah, she works hard at it,” I add. “Even I remember that.”

If Cole was paying attention to our conversation, I want to derail him and fast.

I might have more luck derailing a freight train.

He puts a hand on my arm. “Sev, whatever Malone suggested might have been drastic, but under the circumstances—”

“I know.” I slump back in my chair.

“It's inevitable that people are going to get hurt occasionally given what we do. But more people would get hurt if we didn't do unpleasant things.”

I want Cole to remove his hand, which he leaves on my lower arm like he's pacifying me. I say nothing about it though. Already I've said too much. “It's got to be better to be a CY sometimes. This is what happens when you're emotionally flawed.”

Cole removes the hand and flicks me on the shoulder. “No, it's what happens when you lose sight of the bigger picture. It can happen to anyone. You were there too long, that's all. You lost your focus and got caught up living your assignment.”

“It's what happens when you value human life over objectives,” Jordan says.

Cole narrows his eyes at her. “We do what we do to save human lives. It's not always going to be sunshine and puppies.”

I kick Jordan under the table. She doesn't need to get herself in trouble over my big mouth.

Jordan takes the hint and casts her eyes down to the mess on her tray. “Yeah, I know. The ends will justify the means, but sometimes the means leave me uneasy. I can't help it.”

“They make me uneasy too sometimes,” Cole says. “If they didn't, we'd be CYs.”

Would we? I wonder. Pure humans can do plenty of evil to achieve their ends. Holy wars and genocides and those terrorists who created a virus that put two innocent kids in a coma so they could use them as bargaining chips.

Humanity is a flexible thing. The proportion of brain tissue to implants in a person's head doesn't necessarily have anything to do with it. And isn't that not exactly comforting.

When we leave the mess hall, Jordan drapes an arm around my shoulders and brings her head close to my ear. “I know your brain is busy retrieving old memories, but don't forget what I told you earlier, especially if you have any criticism of Malone. Did you know Cole has weekly briefings with him now?”

“Since when?”

“Started around the time you left. And he's got his own phone.”

I wrap my arms around myself, not bothering to ignore the chill. I'm chilled mentally. Seems I should feel it. “I saw that.”

Jordan pats my back then removes her arm. “He still likes you, and I mean, he's still Cole. But be careful.”

“Yeah, I know. Thanks.”

I rub my eyes. My unit is family, and we stick together. It's more than unit cohesion. We grew up together. But it seems as if the divisions among us—divisions I was only faintly aware of before my mission—have gotten wider. Jordan and Summer and Gabe always resented Fitzpatrick and the way we were treated more strongly than the others. Cole, Sky, Eva, and the other boys were always faster to shake off that treatment and accept our so-called duty. I floundered about in the middle, loathing Fitzpatrick but parroting the duty line because I believed in it. And I believed in Cole.

As a result, Cole and Malone believed in me. I got chosen to go to RTC.

I'm not sure what I believe now. In Cole still, yes. But this dedication to duty makes my insides heave like I ate bad chicken for dinner. The Seven who left for RTC is not the Sophia who returned, and I'm happy about that.

Bad people are coming. They will destroy you.

Maybe the “bad people” I'd been thinking of was Fitzpatrick. She was the one who said RedZone would erase my memories. Malone promised they wouldn't, but even that's no guarantee. He'd change his mind if he knew how much
my
mind had changed. Jordan's right; I have to be careful. I do not want to go back to be being Seven again.

It's like I told Kyle, after all—I'm trapped, as surely as those sharks in the New England Aquarium. That had to be one of the most honest conversations we ever had.

The camp's bright outdoor lights reflect off the flat cloud cover above, creating a depressing ceiling. It's a cage. Even the skies aren't open. Even birds can't fly forever.

No wonder Kyle told me his wings were clipped. He was being deceptively honest too. He's wild but not free, not thanks to whatever his mother did to him. She saved his life, but limited it. Gave him an amazing power, but required him to hide. It's not fair to either of them, although since Sarah Fisher is dead, it doesn't make any difference to her. But Kyle will never truly be free so long as the people who want to get their evil hands on him exist.

I hope he's safe now. I hope I'm not accidentally responsible for outing him to those people. I fear it, yet am impatient for those memories to return.

When I think about what Cole said at dinner and put it together with Kyle's situation, it's easier to see Cole's and Malone's perspectives on duty. Logically, I know better—it shouldn't matter. Innocent people are innocent people. Kyle's life shouldn't be worth more to me than a hundred nameless strangers.

Yet it is. And if I'd thought setting off AnChlor or a bomb at the dance would keep him safe, would I have done it? Would I purposely hurt Audrey and the others? Hard to say. Their lives are innocent too.

These questions make me sick. Bad chicken, indeed.

Lost in my gloom, I trail along behind my unit, and they don't bother me. Cole must have said something to them, or they assume I'm cataloguing memories. I'm glad to be left alone.

As we near our quarters, the sound of an engine disrupts the hum of voices. A black SUV with tinted windows and Massachusetts plates drives by the row of buildings. I watch it, my heartbeat quickening.

Massachusetts. Boston. Kyle. It's been six hours since I gave Malone my intel. Plenty of time for his team to extract Kyle if they worked efficiently and he wasn't being held captive somewhere. So could that be him? Could he be here already?

I take off after the car, desperate to know.

“Sev, where are you going?” Jordan yells.

I don't stop to explain because I need to catch up. Thick gulps of the heavy, cold air fill my mouth as I run, but my feet barely seem to touch the ground.

The SUV parks near the main building. Malone's nowhere in sight, but his second-in-command is visible through the front windows. His wide silhouette shifts impatiently as the SUV's driver gets out of the car.

I falter to a stop fifty feet away, vaguely aware that half my unit took off after me and are badgering me with questions. “Kyle,” I say, pushing hair out of my face. “I want to make sure they got him and he's okay.”

“Who's Kyle?” Gabe asks.

But Cole knows, and he crosses his arms. “It's not your mission anymore. You can relax.”

No, it's not my mission. But Cole's words are more than just practical advice. There's an edge to them. Jealousy? I haven't told Cole anything about Kyle. At most, he could have heard me describe him as a friend.

I must be imagining it. Cole simply thinks I'm refusing to let go, which is a bad trait in a good soldier. Any other ideas stem from my guilt over falling for Kyle when I was supposed to be pining over Cole the whole time I was gone.

Then the driver opens the SUV's back door, and my confusion worsens.

The passenger's back is to me when he gets out, but the shaggy bleached hair is unmistakable, as are the green Converse and the jacket Kyle was wearing yesterday. Relief overwhelms me, but it doesn't last. When I yell Kyle's name, two unexpected things happen.

First, security guards dart out of the main building. They head past the SUV and straight to me.

Second, Kyle turns around, and I gasp. His face is a bloody mess. Or rather it
was
a bloody mess because this is Kyle who can grow a brain and heal a deep cut in under two minutes flat. It's dried blood on his lips and cheek, but blood all the same.

I clasp a hand to my mouth, surprised by the whimper that escapes me. “They got him. Someone got to him first.”

I start to jog over, but the guards get in front of me. “Move!” I dodge them—they're so much slower—and yell out Kyle's name again. “What happened? Kyle!”

The expression on his face is unearthly. Deadly. I'm turned to stone, and that's what his eyes are like. His voice is too soft for me to hear, but I can read his lips just fine. “You.”

I wait for more, but that's all he says.

“What?” I shake my head at him. The driver grabs Kyle roughly by the arm, and his stoniness crumbles. How dare this guy manhandle him like that. “Stop it!”

The driver ignores me, and Kyle stumbles backward. His shock is gone, and now he has no trouble yelling. “You happened, Sophia! You were the one coming, and you didn't even remember!”