The Countdown (The Taking) (2 page)

So if he’d been taken like the rest of us, why had my dad come back without having been changed at all?

The whole thing was all so strange . . .

And then there was this thing with the mornings. Every dawn came with an unbearable gut-wrenching pain that wasn’t getting any easier to deal with. Most mornings it doubled me in half, to the point I had to bite my own tongue to keep myself from crying out.

My dad hadn’t noticed it, but Tyler most definitely had.

Even stranger, each morning a number ticked off in my head. I couldn’t explain it, but whatever the number was, it became my obsession of the day. And suddenly I’d see that number everywhere we went.

Today’s number was seventeen, and so far I’d seen it in the newspaper my dad had found at one of the campsites, on a mile marker we’d passed, and I’d lost count of how many times I’d happened to check my watch at the exact moment the minute hand landed on the seventeen mark.

It was eerie.

The crippling pain I felt each morning combined with my increasing obsession with numbers and time was making me start to think I might be dying. That my body—this new alien body—was rejecting me . . . rejecting
this world
, and I would eventually just . . . vanish again.

Only this time I wouldn’t come back.

Maybe that was what kept me from going to my dad. My fear that my time here was limited. If that was the case, I didn’t want to waste a single second by worrying him, especially if Tyler’s nonsense mutterings turned out to be nothing. Just the mumbo-jumbo ramblings of a sleepwalker awakened too soon.

Die . . .

The Returned must die.

Still, I couldn’t shake the guilt over what I’d done to Tyler. I needed to come clean to him about how . . . why . . . he was taken.

“Up ahead. Through here . . . ,” Tyler said, but I’d been following so close that when he finally stopped, I ran into him from behind. Not that it was a bad place to be—I’d always appreciated that side of him.

Flustered, I jumped back. “Oh, crap . . . sorry.”

Laughing, he at least pretended not to notice that my hands had just been all over him. “There,” he said, sweeping a large cluster of branches out of our way.

Ahead of us was a pond. And flowing away from the pond was a stream. For three days we’d been climbing toward higher elevation, leaving the desert far behind. My dad never said exactly where he was taking us, only that we had to put distance between us and Blackwater Ranch, which really meant getting far away from Agent Truman and the rest of the No-Suchers, the agency’s nickname because of its extreme secrecy.

To me, it meant leaving behind Simon, Jett, Willow, Natty, and all the other Returned, including Griffin, who’d risked their lives so Tyler and I could escape the secret camp when Agent Truman and his goons had attacked it. The idea that we were putting more miles between us each and every day made me more desperate for word from them—news that they’d survived. Information about where they were now. Anything.

“It’s warm . . . the water . . . ,” Tyler breathed, leading me closer. “Hot, even. Some kind of natural spring.”

“Nuh-uh. Are you for real right now?” He didn’t have to tell me what that meant, I was already peeling off my shoes and socks.

The last time we’d seen water clear enough to wash in was two days ago and it had been bitterly cold—mountain runoff, my dad had called it. I’d only been able to stay in long enough to rinse off the thinnest layer of grime before
my skin had been rigid with gooseflesh. I’d shivered the rest of the day, despite the campfire my dad had reluctantly let us build.

Our new life on the run had come with strict rules, and fires could only be lit when they were absolutely crucial. Fires made us conspicuous, my dad had warned, and conspicuous was the last thing we wanted to be. Our plan was to set camp at dusk, and break it again by dawn, never staying in one place long enough to be noticed. Never giving anyone the chance to recognize us.

Tyler had made the case that preventing hypothermia was cause enough to break my dad’s no-fire rule, and for that, I was sure I owed him some sort of life debt.

But now . . .

Now he was presenting me with an even better gift than fire: a heated pool.

When I reached for the hem of my shirt and started stripping it over my head, Tyler whipped his head in the opposite direction, acting like I’d just thrown acid in his face. “Whoa . . .
hey
. . . do you want me to leave or something?”

I laughed over his sudden inhibitions and tossed my shirt on top of my shoes, making a pile beneath the bushes at my feet. I planned to keep my bra on, and in another second or two it would be just that and my underwear remaining. “How is this any different from a swimsuit?”

He dared a peek, uncovering his eyes with exaggerated hesitation. “I mean, I guess so . . .” But even his skepticism
was beginning to sound suspect. We might not have any human DNA left in us, but that didn’t mean his memories weren’t completely and totally red-blooded . . . and what all-American teenaged boy didn’t want to look at a half-naked girl?

Without waiting for his verdict, I lowered myself into the blissfully steamy water. It was seriously luxurious, better even than the hot tub Cat and I had snuck into that one time at her uncle’s country club when we were fourteen.

“You should get your butt in here,” I called to Tyler. “You have no idea what you’re missing . . .” I sighed as the water reached the back of my neck, and then holding my breath, I submerged myself completely.

The water became a filter then, dulling all my senses. Vaguely, from somewhere above me, I heard Tyler say something back to me, and it sounded an awful lot like, “If you insist . . .” But I stopped caring as I raised my toes off the rocks beneath me and let the water cradle me.

Slowly, I eased away from the edge.

Below me something warm surged toward my feet. It felt like a current, and I guessed it was the source of the spring’s heat . . . maybe of the spring itself. I kicked my legs, relishing the feel between my toes.

I sank lower into the water . . . diving . . . plunging closer to the heat . . .

Opening my eyes, I realized my strange ability to see in the dark worked just as well down here. I released a breath and watched the bubbles swell toward the water’s surface.
Around me, I could make out the rocky walls and ridges of the pool’s edge. I traced them, following them lower; to where they reached depths I could no longer see.

I wondered just how far down the pond went.

Deciding to explore, I spun myself in that direction and propelled myself with my hands, letting my super-vision lead the way. Eventually I saw tiny, almost microscopic bubbles seeping toward me. As I kept going the bubbles grew denser, making it harder to see through them.

I had to be nearing the source.

“Kyra!” The sound—my name—was muffled by both the water and distance. Then it came again, and I felt it more than understood it . . .
him
. “
Kyra!
”

From way above, near the surface, Tyler was shouting for me.

I rolled onto my back so I could find him, and even from all the way down here, I could make out his form, bare except for his boxer shorts. I could see his expression, distorted as it was. There was something there as he searched for me. What was it? Worry? Fear?

Anxiety percolated in my chest, bubbling like the spring beneath as I realized I needed to reach him. I kicked my legs hard behind me. When I was close enough, the drawn line of his mouth and his pinched brow became crystal clear.

It wasn’t just worry on his face, it was stark panic
.

His fingers pinched my arm as he dragged me the rest of the way to the top. When we broke through the surface, he choked out, “Kyra . . . what the . . .
What the hell?
” His
feet caught the rocks beneath him finding his balance, and I couldn’t tell if he was stammering because he was frustrated or because he was breathless.

When his green eyes probed mine there was hot accusation in them.

I shot him a mute frown as I tried to unravel what I’d missed during the time I’d been down there.

His grip intensified. “I thought . . .” He scowled back at me, and I saw the way his gaze swept over me then. “You were down there too long.”

Then realization hit home: Tyler didn’t remember.

I shook my head, my whole body unwinding. I reached up and pressed my thumb to the bridge of his nose, where his eyebrows were practically fused together. “It’s okay,” I explained, willing him to understand. “I didn’t need to breathe . . . down there. I can hold my breath for so,
so
long.” It sounded strange to say it again, especially to Tyler, but even without seeing the proof on his face I could sense him collecting himself.

And then he released a strangled sigh. “God, that too?
How long?
”

I shrugged. “I never really tested it. A long time though.” I dared a quick smile, thinking of the first time Tyler had seen that little trick of mine in action, when it wasn’t a trick at all but because my leg had been trapped beneath a fallen log in a rushing river. Agent Truman had been chasing us and we’d had no choice but to jump into the raging waters.

That was nothing at all like now. Here.

“
Really
long,” I finally answered.

Tyler might be like me in the sense that we could heal faster than the Returned, which was already pretty darned impressive, but I had a few other new talents he didn’t. Maybe because the aliens had taken me for five years versus Tyler’s five days. I could see in the dark and hold my breath for forever. I could also throw crazy hard—something Agent Truman had discovered when he’d been on the receiving end of my new killer fastball and ended up with a broken hand.

And sometimes, when I concentrated just right, I could even move things with my mind. Even I had to admit that last thing was pretty freaking cool.

I lowered my hand to his jaw. He didn’t move, and our eyes stayed locked while my stomach flipped. I swallowed nervously.

“Your eyes,” Tyler said, his voice thick now. Low too. “They’re doing that thing again.”

I studied his eyes back, only slightly brighter than they’d been before, but definitely greener. Then I blinked deliberately, intentionally casting a long slow shadow over his face.

Another of my freaky new talents.

“They always remind me of fireflies, when we’re in the dark like this.” He spoke softly, his eyes fastened to mine.

I shuddered. That word,
fireflies
, raked up my guilt all over again.

I tried to shrug it off. There were so many things I wanted . . .
needed
to tell him. So many things I needed to
confess, starting with Devil’s Hole—the night I’d let him be taken.

For me, it may as well have happened yesterday. There wasn’t enough bleach in the world to scrub the memory of those bugs, all those prickly firefly legs swarming over my skin, tangling in my hair, and finding their way up my nose right before Tyler vanished. I’d felt choked by them, smothered.

He was right about my eyes, though. Denial didn’t make the truth any less real. There were times, especially at night, when my eyes flared like strange glowing orbs—impossibly-ridiculously-
comically
bright.

So, not only could I see in the dark, but if the moment was right, I could also
be
seen. I’d become a human beacon.

Tyler ran his finger along my cheekbone. “If it makes you feel any better, it’s not really your eyes I’m thinking about.” This time, I didn’t blink to get a reaction from him; it was strictly knee-jerk. But the glow from my eyes, which was too intense for the kind of blackness out here in the dense woods, flashed over his face all the same—once, then twice, and then a third time, while my breath faltered.

Simon had the worst timing and chose that moment to pop into my head, all grinning and smug-like.
Typical.

“You know, if we have to be going through all this, I’m glad we’re in it together.” Tyler’s gaze shifted, moving to my lips.

My stomach dropped as I tried to blot Simon from my mind’s eye. He was a serious mood killer.

A week ago, I’d have begged Tyler to look at me like that. For his lips to find mine.

But that was a week ago, before I realized he wouldn’t remember who we were to each other, and what we’d been through. And before Simon had planted that stupid, stupid,
stupid
kiss on me at the last minute, right before he’d left me and Tyler with my dad.

Now . . .

Maybe it would do me some good to kiss Tyler . . . to rid myself of Simon once and for all.

So why didn’t I then? Why couldn’t I just let things go back to the way they were . . . the way I wanted them to be between us? Clearly Tyler had feelings for me. I mean, he was standing here ready and willing to kiss me, wasn’t he?

But was that really enough? Could I really pretend nothing had changed, when
everything
had?

That’s the thing. I couldn’t because this wasn’t about Simon.

It wasn’t enough for Tyler and me to share the same DNA—to be part of the same species—because even if he never remembered who we’d been, there was no way we could move forward until he at least knew the truth about what I’d done to him. About my part in his abduction.

As much as I wanted him to love me the way he used to, if I didn’t come clean, anything we started would all be built on lies.

“I need to tell you something,” I said.

“I need to tell you something too,” he answered. But the
way he was looking at me, his gaze flicking back and forth between my mouth and my eyes made it all too clear we were not on the same page.

Please don’t kiss me . . .
I thought achingly, wondering if I’d even find the will to stop him if he did.

Oblivious to my psychic petitions, he lowered his head, and my heart stumbled hard as it tried to wedge its way into my throat.

I tasted his breath and his lips ever-so-lightly feathered across mine. And just as my mind was screaming at me to pull away
,
he stopped moving . . . going inexplicably-unnaturally-
morbidly
still.