The Gathering (24 page)

“What is that?” I ask, pointing.

“Newport’s own refugee community.”

Link and Luka move closer to get a better look. So do I, because that—right there on the screen—is nothing like the refugee communities I’ve seen televised on the news. Those always look clean, with small, cute houses and well-kept lawns. Never skinny, barefooted children dressed in rags, digging through piles of garbage. It looks like a picture from a third world country.

“That’s here, in this city?” Link asks.

Felix nods.

I scratch the inside of my wrist. “How can there be a refugee community in Newport if the government says there’s radioactivity in Newport?”

“Because this community is one of many not on record.”

“And the few that are on record are carefully staged,” Cap adds.

I peer at the two screens. It doesn’t make sense. Why isn’t the media all over this? Why pretend all is well when it’s obviously not? And why would anybody choose to stay when this is how they’re forced to live?

“What’s that?” Luka points to a screen off to the left.

The familiar-looking hallway sends a shiver down the back of my legs.

“Shady Wood Rehabilitation Center. Josiah says you know it well.” Felix slides his hands into his pressed pockets. “We’re trying to hack into Detroit’s Rehabilitation Center, but it’s proving a bit more difficult.”

“That’s brilliant,” Link mutters.

“Since they’re two of the largest, most secure rehab facilities in the nation, we think it wise to keep tabs on the situation. Not surprisingly, we’ve noticed a disturbing pattern.”

Link turns around. “Databases disappearing.”

“Yes.” A young woman with a heart-shaped face, black-framed glasses, and thick blond hair pulled up in a high ponytail rolls her chair away from a nearby computer.

“Meet Veronica,” Felix says.

She stands and shakes our hands—mine, Luka’s, Link’s. “
Ronie
.”

“Veronica heads up business here in the command center. She’s also one of the most talented hackers I’ve ever had the pleasure of knowing.” Felix smiles. “I wonder, Andrew, if she will give you a run for your money.”

Link’s eyes light up. He flashes his dimples at Ronie, and a ping twinges in my chest.

“Not only are the databases disappearing,” Ronie continues, “they reconfigure themselves shortly after, with all new names. We believe patients are being funneled from smaller rehab facilities around the country to these two, where they are being systematically disposed of.”

A shudder ripples through my arms. I picture rows upon rows of the living dead. Holding rooms before they’re tossed into ditches and lit on fire. Can this really be happening?

“Are you getting patients out?” Luka asks.

“We try to reach them before they are admitted,” Ronie says.

“How?”

“We hack into government medical records and pinpoint anyone with markers.”

Link rubs his chin. “Well that’s a lot simpler.”

“And also risky.” Ronie pushes her glasses up her nose. “When we reach out to them that early, it can backfire. We have to keep our identities, our location, hidden. Many of the people we’re trying to inform end up seeing our cryptic messages as proof that they are, in fact, crazy. Some end up checking themselves into rehab facilities faster, especially now with Cormack’s new mental health initiative.”

“That’s how you ended up with Ralph,” I say.

Luka turns around, away from the screens he’s been studying so intently. “Our tour guide?”

“Joanna said he’s not part of The Gifting.”

“Joanna would be correct,” Felix says. “Ralph is a Sleeper. We have a few down here.”

“And you let them stay?”

“Where else would they go, Teresa? A rehab facility? Don’t you think the other side will kill them as readily as they’re killing us? When it comes to murder, our enemy isn’t picky.” Felix brushes at something on the lapel of his blazer, his attention lifting to Ronie. “How’s the new project coming along?”

“Slowly.”

“What’s the new project?” Link asks.

“Veronica is trying to reproduce the dream simulator you created for Josiah.”

Ronie looks from Cap to Link, one corner of her mouth quirking. “Maybe you can help me figure out what I’m doing wrong.”

“Lead the way,” Link says.

She does. We leave the command center behind and follow Ronie and Felix past a few doors into a darkened room. Ronie flips the switch. Except for two computers and a bunch of crisscrossing wires, the room is empty.

She boots up one of the computers, tapping the same key on the keyboard several times. “I’ve recreated the electrodes that stimulate sleep in the brain. I’ve also created a dream space. But I can’t figure out how to send someone into it.”

Link joins her at the monitor. They talk their own language—rapid-fire dialog that might as well be computer coding for all I understand. The more they talk, the more the shadow lifts from Link’s face. It’s a shadow I didn’t even notice until now. He looks younger. Carefree. So much like the Link I knew at the hub.

Felix tucks his fist under his chin, his elbow resting on his opposite arm, an amused expression on his face. “Shall we leave you two alone?”

“It won’t take long to get this up and running,” Link says. “If Ronie doesn’t mind, I can stay back and help.”

“I don’t mind,” she says.

“Join us in the investigation room when you’re done.” And with that, Felix leaves.

Luka sets his hand on the small of my back and ushers me away from Link and Ronie and their mutual fascination with the crisscrossing wires, into a large room at the end of the hallway. Two people sit inside. I recognize them immediately, as they’re right below us on America’s Most Wanted list. The woman—number eight—sits at a desk off in the corner beside a metal filing cabinet. She has the same pixie haircut and astute eyes as her mug shot. The man—number nine—sits at a large table in the center of the room. He has the same round face.

Felix introduces them as Lexi and Connal.

“Welcome to headquarters.” Connal stands and shakes our hands. He has crooked teeth, and surprisingly, a thick Irish accent. “Where’s yer third?”

“Andrew’s with Veronica, working on the dream simulator.”

“He goes by
Link
.” Andrew sounds way too weird. Seriously, what’s up with Felix and his inability to call people by their preferred names? I nod at Connal. “I thought you had to be American to be on America’s Most Wanted.”

“Lucky us, they made an exception fer Lex and me.” His friendly eyes twinkle at Lexi. Hers don’t twinkle back. It doesn’t seem to ruffle him too much. “We’ve heard a great deal about ye. A trio as scarce as hen’s teeth, you are.”

“Hen’s teeth?”

Lexi rolls her eyes, then stands and shakes our hands, too. “You’re rare, is what he means. Connal often forgets he’s not in Ireland anymore.” Her accent is every bit as thick as Connal’s, but it’s not Irish. It’s British.

Interesting.

“What is that?” Luka points toward a large white board on wheels. A light bulb hangs from the ceiling and dangles in front of it, giving the board a spotlighted effect. There are sketches of faces taped onto it. The drawings don’t look quite … human.

“The FBI has their wanted list,” Felix says. “We have ours.”

I step closer, goose bumps rising on my skin. “Who are they?”

“Enemy leaders with a high level of authority. Connal and Lexi are keeping tabs on them.”

Adrenaline courses through my veins. I picture Scarface, tormenting my grandmother. Tormenting Luka. Tormenting my brother and my mom. He’s been hunting me, hurting the people I love. Maybe it’s time I turn the tables and hunt him. “I have someone I’d like to add.”

Felix folds his hands behind his back. “When we’re finished here I’ll have you speak with the sketch artist. We can get a rendering. See if anybody else knows him.”

“What’s that board?” Luka nods toward another, off in the shadow. Instead of sketchings, this one has actual photographs.

“Believers in positions of influence. The more we have on our side, the better. Josiah tells me you’ve been working on an FBI agent. Michael Bledsoe, is it?”

I nod. “I can check in on him tonight.”

“Excellent.” Felix strolls toward a new board. One that is blank. He picks up a dry erase marker and hands it to me. “Now let’s examine that list, shall we?”

A Big Difference

L
ink and Ronie join us halfway through our brainstorming. Ronie pulls up recent photographs and video of Secretary Young and Chief Fredrick. I pore over them until I find what I’m looking for. The mark—it’s on the secretary’s wrist and the chief’s neck. Ronie prints pictures of both and we stick them on the white board beside a picture of President Cormack. We’re still not sure whether she’s the
king
or the
idol
.

As far as the
physician
, we start with the directors of our nation’s two largest mental rehab facilities—Shady Wood and Detroit. As I study a large stack of printed photographs—my eyes slowly crossing—Luka sets a drink on the table next to my elbow. It’s a small bottle of chocolate milk.

He shoots me a wink. “Thought you could use a pick-me-up.”

“Where’d you get it?”

“Saw it in the general store. I convinced the lady working there to give me a freebie.”

I rub my thumb over the cap, feeling touched. The last time I had chocolate milk was that night in Motel California. “Thank you.”

He leans over, his lips close to my ear. “See? This place isn’t so bad.”

I can’t help myself. His words make me smile. This
place
houses Claire and Clive. If I had to choose between no traitors and chocolate milk, I’d choose no traitors. Since Felix isn’t giving me a say in the matter, I guess chocolate milk is a nice consolation. I twist off the lid and take a long drink. It carries me through three more stacks of pictures. I’m not able to find the mark on either director, but that could be due to the fact that we haven’t found anything that gives me a good enough look.

We continue our theorizing, my niggling thought from the Rivard library growing in size. This can’t all be centered in the United States. We have to be missing something. We toss around ideas, but nothing sticks. Connal’s growling stomach finally convinces us to call it quits. We aren’t going to solve the riddle today. At least not before lunch.

According to Felix, it’s time to head to the mess hall. I ask Cap to bring me to the sketch artist first. Luka comes along.

“Is this accurate?” the woman asks, holding up the rendering.

I study the two scars running the length of his cheeks—one put there by my grandmother, the other by Luka. The drawing isn’t perfect, but it’s accurate enough to tighten my chest. Accurate enough to put murder in Luka’s eyes. “It’s really close.”

“Do you know of anybody else down here who’s interacted with him? The more feedback I get, the better the picture.”

I turn to Cap. “I want to speak with Clive.”

*

Luka and I follow Cap into the barracks. “He’s been taking his meals in his room.”

“Why?”

“Self-imposed isolation. The only time he leaves is to see the counselor.”

“The counselor?”

“It was one of Felix’s stipulations. Before they could live here, Clive and Claire had to agree to see Dr. Sheng. He’s a Shield, but he’s also a qualified therapist.”

I don’t care how qualified Dr. Sheng is. He can’t undo what Clive did.

Cap stops in front of a closed door. Clive’s, I assume. I don’t wait for Cap to knock. I open the door, stride through the darkened room, and smack the drawing on the mattress.

Clive sits upright. I don’t know why the sight of him doesn’t cause the same visceral reaction in me as seeing Claire. Maybe it’s because beneath my anger, I understand his motive. He just wanted his family back. Claire, on the other hand, acted out of pure selfishness. Exactly like my grandmother.

He picks up the sketch. “What’s this?”

“It’s your friend. Don’t you recognize him?”

He shoves it away. “He’s no friend of mine.”

“That’s funny. He was a couple weeks ago.”

“He was never my friend.”

I peer down at him. His hair—cut to army regulation only two weeks ago—is disheveled, and gray whiskers cover his once clean-shaven face. How in the world can Cap trust him so easily after what he did? “Two weeks ago, you were willing to hand us over to cut a deal. What changed?”

He doesn’t answer.

“At least tell me what you said to get everyone to believe you.”

“I told the truth.”

“Which is what—exactly?”

“If I could take it back, I would.”

I roll my eyes. “Or your plan backfired and now you’re trying to save your skin.”

“I don’t care about my skin. I’ve never cared about my skin. All I care about is my family. They mean more to me than anything.”

“Which is why you sold us out.”

“It’s also why I’ll never do it again. It didn’t take long after I dropped my cloak to realize something.”

“What did you realize?”

“If the other side wins, it won’t matter who we’re with. This world won’t be worth living in.” He slouches against his headboard. “If you want a reason to believe me, there it is. I’m on your team because more than anything, I want to give my family a world worth living in again.”