Hunted (7 page)

CHAPTER 10

“Daniel—is it really you?”
I can’t believe it. But I know it is. It’s him! I’ve got to tell Mom—

I pull away from Daniel and look up into his face. He’s taller than me now, and so thin, like he hasn’t been fed well.

I want to hug him and shake him at the same time.

“Why did you let us worry—let us think you were dead?

And why did you call yourself John? How did you hide from
me?”
How did I not know it was him? I feel so betrayed.

And relieved. I float outside of my body, watching us both.

Daniel. Here. Really here with me.

“Use your voice,”
Daniel sends.
“We’re in public.”

“Why didn’t you tell me who you were? How did you keep it from me?” The words tumble out of my mouth, jostling into each other. “When did you find me? And how?

We’ve been looking for you ever since you disappeared.” Tears are streaming down my cheeks, hot and fast. I don’t bother to hide them.

Daniel looks around the library. It’s almost deserted—

just fifteen minutes until class. Mrs. Vespa’s watching us curiously.

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Daniel pulls me over behind a bookshelf. “You can never be too careful,” he says quietly. “You know that. People betraying each other. The Normals after us. And my talent—it was dampened for a while.”

That’s no answer. Not enough of one. “Don’t you know how hard we’ve looked for you?” I hiss, gripping his arm. “How long we hoped, and then lost hope? How could you not—”

Daniel jerks his arm away. “Because I’m not free.” He sticks out his tongue, and I see, with horror, the metal tracker punched right through it.

“You’re a Para-slave!”
A tool. Of all the things I worried about, all the things I imagined, I never really thought that would happen to Daniel. It was a possibility, of course.

But it was too awful to think about. I imagined him with an adoptive family. Imagined him on the streets, imagined him dead. But I never imagined him being a Government Para.

I kept my thoughts far away from that, as if somehow that would prevent it from happening.

Now I feel the metallic scent laced through all his thoughts. The scent I dismissed as fear. I swallow hard and reach out to touch him. He jerks away.

“Are you . . . okay?” I ask.

“What do you think?” he spits, venom in his voice.

His grief and rage at being abandoned slap into me.

“Daniel—we didn’t leave you. We never stopped looking
for you.”
I grasp his roughened hands tightly, send waves of comfort to him—the years and years of searching, of worrying, of putting the word out to the Underground, of praying and hoping and yearning to find him . . . .

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Daniel shakes loose, but I feel his pain and fury dissi-pate, smoothing over.

I look at him uncertainly.
“Can you—come home?”
Daniel shakes his head.
“They track wherever I am;
you should know that. The government owns me.”
I do know that. I curse myself for letting my need for him take over. Tears fill my chest, my throat, so thick I choke on them.
“Daniel—I am so sorry for that day. So
sorry that woman took you. It was all my fault.”

“No. It wasn’t.”
Daniel looks away.
“I chose to go with
her. I was . . . flattered.”
The pain inside him cracks open, spilling over me so strong I have to struggle not to cry out.

And beneath it runs that thread of anger and blame.

Fear blossoms in me.
“Daniel—if you can’t come
home—”

“What did I come back for?”
Daniel asks bitterly.

“No! I’m glad you found me. Just . . .”
I can’t send it, can’t think it, but it comes unbidden.
“Are you going to turn
me in?”

“What do you think I am?”
Daniel’s fists clench and he turns away—but I can feel that he’s thought about it, and that he’s wanted to, sometimes.

Government Paras are given easier lives, more privi-leges, when they turn other Paras in. But if their trooper discovers that they’ve been hiding another Para, they’ll be tortured. I can hardly bear to think about it—to think about what Daniel must have gone through—

“It’s all right. They treat me all right now,”
Daniel sends.

But I feel the twisted pain in his soul, the way his joints 92

HUNTED

ache at night, the way he sometimes wakes screaming as dark memories claw at him.

I want to hold him, to hug his pain away, but I know he doesn’t want me to touch him.

Is it because he’s hiding something?

“They monitor us,” Daniel says quietly. “Not just our bodies—our brain waves, our heart rates, our sweat—but also our emotions. Too much fear, or anger, or happiness, and my trooper comes trotting over, all eager to zap me.

Even when I’m working undercover, like now. They’re willing to mess up an entire operation to get one Para. They’ve got me on a long leash—but it’s a deadly one. I don’t want my brain to get fried. I need to be careful.” I feel his emotions smooth over again, like a putty knife smoothing over plaster.
“Is that why—,”
I start to send, then block the rest. But he knows what I was going to say.

“I’m not used to hugs anymore. To touch that doesn’t
hurt.”

He shudders, pain radiating through him, into me.

I send him more comfort, as much as I can.

“Caitlyn—you know things are getting worse. The
ParaWatch is getting stronger. Troopers are getting more
aggressive. The government’s punishing the Normals who
help us even harder—and is rewarding Para-haters more.

And there’s that crazy Para-killer out there.”
I nod with the truth of what he’s saying.

“I came here to make sure you’re safe—but I also
came because I need your help. There’s a group of us—

we’re fighting the government from the inside.”
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I stare at Daniel, fear sucking away my breath.

“They’ll kill you if they find out.”

“You think they’re not going to kill you—after they torture you—for your blog? Caitlyn, you’re taking crazy risks
with that blog of yours. And you’re all alone. But this group
I’m in, we have power together. The power of hundreds of
Paras all secretly working together.”

“How is that different from the Underground?”
I ask.

“The

Underground!”

Daniel

sends

scornfully.

“They’re just a bunch of frightened Paras and Normals
scurrying from one rabbit hole to the next. We’re working
for real change, Caitlyn. We’re working to make a difference.”

There’s something he’s not saying. Something just below the surface. . . .

Daniel laughs.
“I never could get one past you. The
fact is—the government’s captured some high-powered
Paras lately—Paras so new they’re too scared to fight back.

We need more talented Paras on our side, and you are one
of the strongest. You always have been,”
he sends proudly.

“With you beside me, I think we’ll have a real chance.”

“A chance to—?”

“To stop this madness! To regain our equality. Will you
help?”

It sounds right, but something makes me hesitate.

“What would I have to—”

The bell rings shrilly, interrupting us.

Daniel shakes his head. “We’ll talk more later.”
“Right
now, it’s better to blend in. I don’t want anyone fingering
you.”

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I grit my teeth, but he’s right. “Promise me you won’t disappear on me again.”

“I promise.” Daniel smiles, but there is pain in his smile, and something else twisted up in the pain, something I can’t decipher.

“But what about Mom?”
I ask.
“What do I tell her?”

“Don’t tell her anything; not yet. I want to be the one
to. Now go on. You need to work on blending in.”
Don’t I know it.

But after seeing Daniel, I can hardly concentrate. In science class we’re dissecting frogs, and the formaldehyde smell is overpowering. I keep reaching for Daniel, for reassurance that I didn’t imagine him, that he really is here.

I feel him, but muffled, like a sponge is absorbing his presence. No—like
he
is—so the trooper monitoring him doesn’t come to check up on him.

The sadness splits open inside me, and tears burst out.

Thank god for the frogs.

Mr. Kinley comes over, wearily pushes my frog away, pats my shoulder clumsily, and tells me I can go see the nurse or the counselor if I want to. His embarrassment at my outburst almost overwhelms me.

I shake my head and swallow back sobs, trying to get myself under control. Mr. Kinley leaves me to it.

In my next class, history, Alex is there. My heart lifts but his shoulders go stiff with anger at the sight of me, his eyes shuttering over. It takes me a moment to remember why—my skipping out on them.

All through class, I am so aware of Alex, of the pain 95

Cheryl Rainfield

coursing through him. But I can’t tell him why. Can’t even say I’m sorry without it sounding trite.

I turn away from him miserably and hunch my shoulders. I listen to Mr. Borris go on and on about World War II, ignoring the war that happened right here, and that’s sparking again between Normals and Paras.

For once I actually want to leave before Mom thinks we should. I want to start all over.

But I could never leave Daniel. Not now that we’ve found each other.

Alex avoids me and I’m grateful. I get through the rest of my classes by reaching for Daniel and finding him over and over again, until he gently pushes me away.
“I’m here.

I’m not going anywhere. Stop worrying; you’re worse than
Mom ever was.”

“But when will I see you again?”
He doesn’t answer. I feel like I’m losing him all over again.

I reach for him as hard as I can, but I can’t find him.

I need to scream, but instead I arrange my face in a bland mask. Nothing feels real. Not the other students, the classrooms, or the teachers’ voices droning on and on. Only finding Daniel, then losing him again.

I float through the classes until the last bell rings, and then I wander unsteadily to my locker, not caring when people bump into me, their thoughts exploding through me like grenades.

Alex and Rachel are standing at my locker.

Alex grips my arm, fingers pressing too tight. “Where 96

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were you? Why’d you blow us off like that?”
. . . thought
she liked me . . . stupid to care so much. . .

I look from him to Rachel, then back again, my cheeks warm as a slap. “I’m sorry. I just—” I look into his dark, narrowed eyes. I can’t stand him being so mad at me, being so hurt. But I can’t let myself care.

“You just what?” His fingers dig into me. “Didn’t want to be around the black boy and the lesbian?”

“What? No!” I recoil from their pain, yank my arm away. I can’t believe they could think that. “I got scared,” I say, looking away. I stare at the worn linoleum tiles, color faded from years of shoes walking over them.

“Scared of what?” Alex says, his voice distant, like he doesn’t care what I say.

“Scared of how much I already like you,” I say, and press my fingers against my lips. I can’t believe I said that.

Am I trying to make sure we’ll have to move?

“Why?” Alex asks softly.

I look over at Rachel, at her arms crossed tightly over her chest to hold in the hurt, and I know I’m about to make another mistake. “My mom—she doesn’t like to stay in one place too long. We’ve moved so often that I try not to get attached to people. It hurts too much when we leave. And we
always
leave. But I like you both—a lot. I’m sorry I was such a jerk, ducking out on you.”

“Hey, it’s okay,” Rachel says, uncrossing her arms. “I know how parents can mess you up, especially when they don’t have their own shit together.”

“Yeah,” Alex says, rolling his eyes. “Parents do all 97

Cheryl Rainfield

sorts of crap. Mine sure did. But that doesn’t mean you have to, too.”

His natural happiness pushes back up like a sunrise, warming me. I grin at him. “Just don’t do that to me again, girl,” he says.
. . . I don’t think I can take it . . .

The loudspeaker crackles. “Attention, students.” Mr.

Temple’s tinny voice echoes through the hall, bouncing off the walls. “You’ll be happy to know that we’ve just made our school a safer, better place. State ParaTroopers arrested a dangerous Para who was hiding in our school!” My stomach churns.

“Paul Barrett has been found guilty of unregistered telekinesis and is being transported by guard to a holding cell, thanks to a tip given by our very own Becca Johnson during a basketball game. We’ll have a half-day tomorrow to celebrate. Let’s all be as civic-minded as Becca and keep our school safe for everyone.”

Paul. Oh my god,
Paul
. I slap my hand over my mouth to keep the sound in.

The loudspeaker shuts off. There’s a poignant silence, and then the hallway erupts into students cheering and whistling and stomping. Even the teachers are clapping.

Acid rushes up my throat. They’re
happy
. They’re actually happy about another person being unjustly taken prisoner, and stripped of their family and friends, their home and possessions, and all their rights. Their happiness is not a clean happiness, though—it feels like blood-lust, the kind of euphoria that hunters get just after the kill, when the animal lies there bleeding its life away. I swallow and con-98