Into The Fire (The Ending Series) (32 page)

“Silent isn’t the goal,” Mase said, looking down at me with
no hint of amusement. “We want to look like we belong, not like we’re sneaking
around.”

Hide in plain sight?
It made sense, so I didn’t
argue. I glanced at the door. “So, uh…where to first?”

“We’re only going one place,” Camille said, grinning
wickedly.

“And that place is?”

“Headquarters.”

I stared first at Camille, then at Mase, before taking a
deep breath. “Shit,” I said as I exhaled. Headquarters was where the General’s
office was located, and there were bound to be guards posted at all hours.

“Please tell me you have a plan,” I said weakly.

Camille’s expression melted into innocence, and it was
Mase’s turn to grin. His smile was even more wicked than Camille’s had been.

The plan, as it turned out, was comprised of Camille using
the metals that saturate the human body to hold any guards we came across
temporarily motionless while Mase and I injected them with a chemical compound
that would both knock them out for several hours and cause short-term memory
loss. By the time they could recall their attackers—if they ever could—we would
be long gone. Or we would be dead. Either way, we would be out of the General’s
reach.
Unless he brings me back as a Re-gen…

We took out the two soldiers guarding the main entrance
without complication, and Mase even managed to prop them up against the
building so the unlikely passersby wouldn’t suspect foul play simply by seeing
the out-of-commission guards. Two more men were stationed in the dark hallway
just outside the General’s office, and they went down just as easily. My Ability
to observe and keep track of the minds around me like a built-in radar was
priceless.

Mase searched the downed guards while Camille and I waited
patiently by the door. Neither had the three keys required to unlock the
deadbolts barring the door. Fortunately, we had Camille, who was better than
any key. She closed her eyes and concentrated. After two achingly long minutes,
she glanced at me over her shoulder, her lips spread into a self-satisfied
smirk.

It was my turn. I concentrated, and, not sensing anything
beyond the door, gave Mase a go-ahead nod. He shouldered between us and opened
the door to the dark office. All clear.

“Next shift change is at two,” Mase whispered. “Nobody
should be walking around the building until then.” He glanced at the high-tech watch
on his wrist and pushed a button to light up the face. “We’ve got about an hour
until we need to be gone.”

“Okay.” I closed my eyes and focused, searching the night
sky with my Ability. I couldn’t find what I was looking for in or over the
Colony, so I reached beyond. My consciousness expanded, an undetectable sphere
of mental awareness, and I found my quarry less than a mile to the east,
soaring over a prairie as they hunted. For the briefest moment, I felt like I
was flying with them…like I
was
them.
What the hell was that?

The three owls were confused when they felt my touch, but
curiosity convinced them to heed my call. They flew across the starlit sky with
incredible speed, agreeing to keep watch over the building I showed them
mentally—headquarters—while we were inside it. I could’ve used my Ability to
observe the movement of minds around me, but then I wouldn’t have been able to
concentrate fully on the search for information.

“I’ve called in some friends to keep watch from above.
They’ll let me know if anyone’s coming our way,” I told Camille and Mase.

They said nothing and simply stared at me, clearly confused.

“Oh, um, my Ability works on animals, too,” I explained. I
watched as understanding lit their features in the darkness. “So…I’ll take the
desk, I guess, if you guys want to start searching the file cabinets?”

I reached into the neck of my fatigues and pulled the camera
Gabe had given me out of my sports bra. “Let me know if you find anything
important and I’ll take a picture.”

Again, their faces filled with confusion.

Crap…they don’t know what a camera is…
“Just let me
know if you find anything that looks important or like it could help us get out
of here, okay?”

Finally, they nodded and turned to the wall of file
cabinets, clicking on their flashlights before opening neighboring drawers.

With a sigh, I looked down at the General’s desk. It took me
a moment to figure out why it looked so odd. There was no computer, not the
laptop or tablet I’d seen General Herodson using the only other time I’d been
in his office. Instead, all that cluttered his desktop was a stack of trays
labeled
IN, OUT,
and
URGENT
, a cup holding writing utensils, the
usual office supplies—stapler, tape dispenser, and notepads—and a stack of
manila file folders. One of those folders was labeled
DANIELLE O’CONNOR. Has
the General been checking up on me?

I opened the folder. My face stared up at me from an
eight-by-ten photograph I’d never seen before. I wasn’t positive, but it looked
like it had been taken
inside
my borrowed house.
Creepy.
There
were only a few sheets of paper beneath the photo, so I quickly flipped through
them, taking a picture of each to read later.

The rest of the folders were dossiers devoted to
individuals, just like the one with my name on it.
Why is mine here with
these other people’s?
Unwilling to waste time searching each and every
paper, I photographed the profile sheet contained within each folder. It gave a
good overview on each individual, including their personal identifying
information, a small photo, basic characteristics, Ability, and an “Additional
Notes” section at the bottom.
They must be important to the General too.

Underneath the stack of dossiers was a black, leather-bound
organizer. I unzipped it carefully, not wanting to disturb any loose contents.
My caution proved fortuitous—several dozen loose papers, tabbed and color-coded,
had obviously been organized in a specific order; messing up that order could
easily clue the General in to what his nocturnal intruders were searching for,
and I was determined to do everything I could to avoid that. He couldn’t know
my plans, couldn’t know my intentions, until I was long gone. Not if I wanted
to make it out alive.

I scanned the top sheet, then the three beneath it. It took
my brain a few seconds to register what my eyes were seeing. It was a detailed
outline of the General’s schedule for the next two days, including start times,
end times, and locations for each appointment. His schedule was packed, even in
the evening hours. I took pictures of the four pages before moving on.

The next set of papers had been paper-clipped together, and
a small green sticky tab had been stuck to the upper right corner of the top
sheet.
DAILY GUARD ROTATION
had been printed neatly on it. I barely
glanced at the words written on the pages as I snapped pictures of each. The
remaining papers related to other day-to-day matters, but none seemed
significant to my escape.

I almost squealed with excitement, and my heart most
definitely skipped a beat, when I set all of the loose papers aside. The first
item bound in the organizer was a detailed, laminated map of the Colony. I
didn’t hesitate before taking a picture.

“Dani?”

I jumped and looked up to find Camille standing on the other
side of the desk, holding a folder out to me.
PROJECT EDEN.

“Sorry,” she said softly before waving the folder back and
forth. “This looks important. I thought you’d want to see it.”

Smiling, I laughed nervously and accepted the folder.
“Thanks. Don’t worry about me…spy work always makes me jumpy.”

Camille cocked her head and shrugged before returning to the
file drawer she’d been searching. I spared the briefest moment to watch her and
Mase as they searched, side by side, stealing momentary glances at each other.

The breeding program, Project Eden, wasn’t on the top of my
to-learn-more-about list, but I appreciated Camille’s help anyway. “I’d love to
find anything that tells us more about the Controllers, or the Tabula Rasa
program,” I said quietly. “
Please
tell me if you find anything like
that.”

Quickly, I flipped through the papers in the Project Eden
folder and found that it was a log of some kind, though I had no clue as to why
Camille had thought it important. I returned to the top sheet and started
skimming.

“Camille, I don’t understand…” My eyes widened as I trailed
off.

01.13.GT01 SUBJECT #0001 F26CO0021

Pregnancy failed—2 weeks

Spontaneous abortion, cause unknown

01.15.GT01 SUBJECT #0002 F30MT1534

Pregnancy failed—1 week

Spontaneous abortion, cause unknown

01.15.GT01 SUBJECT #0003 F21CO0372

Uterine hemorrhaging, fetus stabilized

01.16.GT01 SUBJECT #0004 F32OH1839

Pregnancy failed—2 weeks

Spontaneous abortion, cause unknown

01.17.GT01 SUBJECT #0003 F21CO0372

Pregnancy failed—4 weeks

Spontaneous abortion, cause unknown

NOTE: Fetus autopsied, appeared far older, possibly 12
weeks. Was fertilization date miscalculated?

01.17.GT01

Evidence indicating dire circumstances. Extreme measures
required. Project Eden instituted.

“Oh my God,” I breathed.
But Sarah’s pregnant, and she
seems
fine…more or less.
I flipped to the last sheet in the folder and read the
three log entries there. They were from the previous day.

03.20.GT01 SUBJECT #0103 F23CO0112

Pregnancy failed—3 weeks

Spontaneous abortion caused by genetic incompatibility

03.20.GT01 SUBJECT #0106 F26NV2315

Pregnancy failed—4 weeks

Spontaneous abortion caused by genetic incompatibility

03.20.GT01 SUBJECT #068 F29CO0834

7-week checkup—fetus and mother appear healthy

NOTE: Fetal growth extremely advanced. Would place at 27
or 28 weeks if pregnancy hadn’t been monitored since fertilization.

TREATMENT REC: Switch to daily checkups.

“Camille,” I whispered without tearing my eyes away from the
documents. “Did you find anything else about Project Eden?”

When she didn’t respond, I glanced at her. She and Mase were
sitting on the floor, each with an open folder, the contents of which they were
reading intently.

“Camille?”

24

MASE

MARCH
21, 1AE

Mase watched Camille’s silhouette as she handed Dani a
folder, replaying what Camille had told him about normals—about the things they
did that were forbidden to Re-gens. Dani had offered the use of one of the
rooms in her house in exchange for the two Re-gens’ help. When Camille relayed
the offer to Mase, his mind had screamed
NO
while his mouth had formed a
single word: yes. He hadn’t meant to agree, but something uncontrollable inside
him had taken charge.

It was becoming difficult for Mase to focus on the files in
front of him. He kept imagining doing what Camille had described and forgetting
his current task. He wondered how—or
if
—it could even work. They were
just so different. Camille was small and delicate, while Mase was…not. He was
her Giant. She was soft, light, and fragile, while he was hard, dark, and prone
to fits of uncontrollable strength and violence. But mostly, he thought Camille
just seemed too small for what she described to work. Not that he wouldn’t give
it a try…

Shaking his head, Mase closed the drawer of supply lists he’d
been searching and knelt to open the bottom drawer. As soon as his flashlight
illuminated the labels on the tabs of the folders, he knew what he’d found.

AJ-01. AJ-02. AS-01. BM-01. CA-01. CL-01.

Re-gen identifiers, just like the tattoos on the inside of his
and Camille’s wrists. Each folder had to be devoted to an individual Re-gen.
Mase pulled out the CL-01 folder, his hand shaking. CL-01 was Camille’s Re-gen
identifier, what everyone besides Dr. Wesley, Dani, and Mase called her.

Setting it on the carpet nearby, Mase scanned the tabs in search
of another identifier—his. About halfway back, MA-01, thicker than Camille’s
folder, awaited him. He claimed it and shut the drawer, then turned to sit with
his back against the file cabinet. He stretched out his legs in front of him just
as Camille returned. When Mase handed her the other file—
her
file—she
joined him on the floor.

Mase’s fingers itched to open his folder, but his stomach
twisted into knots. He felt like he’d swallowed a bucket of rocks and they were
churning around and around inside him. He had no idea what he would learn about
himself, about who he’d been, once he opened it. He only knew what Camille had
told him.

Father had found Mase and his men trying to help Camille
when she’d become trapped in one of the warehouses. Because Mase had tried to
hide her, Father realized Mase was no longer trustworthy and decided it was
necessary to enroll him in the Re-gen program—to control him and his Ability—and
killed the men with him.

Camille had relayed everything that Mase had told her in the
warehouse: that he’d known her before she’d been made into a Re-gen, that he’d
taken care of her when she was younger, that he would take care of her still,
rescue her. But in the end, it hadn’t mattered, and
Camille
had been the
one to rescue
him
. With truths about his past, Camille had freed Mase
from the prison of control Father forced on his newly made Re-gens. But she
hadn’t known much. Now he could learn more.

With a deep breath, Mase opened the folder, shone his
flashlight on the top paper, and began to read.

His full name was Mason Kyle Atwell, and he’d been twenty-one
years old. He was African-American, not that he understood what that meant, and
was from Minneapolis, MN, which he also didn’t really understand. As far as
Mase knew, there was only the Colony and outside the Colony. His Ability was
described as “physical enhancement through the manipulation of hormones and
neurotransmitters, namely epinephrine.” He frowned; instead of explaining his
past, the information contained within the folder only generated more confusing
questions.

Near the bottom of the first page, there was a short
paragraph written in a hand Mase recognized—Father’s. The rest of the information
had been typed. Curious, he read:

01/03/GT01—It has been brought to my attention that CPL
Atwell shows resistance to mental manipulation. If his resistance leads to the
beginning signs of disobedience, he should be seriously considered for the
Re-gen program. Drs. Wesley and McLaughlin agree that his Ability is too
important to warrant a simple execution, and they seem certain that the Re-gen
process would bring him back under my control. It is worth noting that CPL
Atwell has been with me on this base for over two years and has never displayed
overt disobedience. I will talk with my advisors and explore possible
assessment scenarios.

Mase glanced at Camille out of the corner of his eye. He was
tempted to ask her if she could explain any of Father’s words, maybe tell him
what he’d done to warrant Father’s suspicion, but Camille was equally immersed
in learning about herself. Remotely, Mase heard Dani muttering something, but
he turned his attention back to the folder containing pieces of his past life.

Beneath the first page was sheet after sheet of service
records. Mase knew he’d been in the Army, but now he had proof. He scanned the
information, paging through the stack until he reached something new: a handful
of lined pages stapled together, each filled with handwriting—
his own
handwriting, it seemed. He started at the beginning.

Your name is Mase. Don’t let anyone call you Mason—that
name was for Mom and Nana, and they’re both dead now. Fuck (that’s your
favorite word, by the way), I don’t know how to do this. They told me to write
down my life story, but I’ve never been much of a writer. Doc suggested that
writing a letter to myself…my dead, future self…might make it easier. I don’t
know why it matters. You’re probably never going to read this. Actually, I bet
they’re just trying to get more information out of me before they give me the
juice.

Ha. The Juice. Don’t drink the Kool-Aid. Dad used to say
that. “Be your own man, Mase. Defend your country, your freedom, but for God’s
sake, don’t drink the Kool-Aid.” That’s what he said when I told the family
that I’d signed the Army recruitment papers instead of enrolling in college. We
needed the money…Dad just took a pay cut and the school district let Mom go,
and we were about to lose the house. Didn’t matter that Mom was one of the best
goddamn teachers they had. Most of the teachers they laid off were the good ones…just
hadn’t been there long enough or didn’t teach the right subjects. Maybe General
Herodson’s right, and the world will be better after the “Great Transformation.”

Nah. I drank the Kool-Aid, and now I wish I hadn’t. It’s
all turned to shit. I volunteered for some experimental trials a couple years
back, right after basic training. The money was too good to pass up, especially
with Mom’s cancer coming out of remission and General Herodson’s vision of a
brighter future, a prosperous society filled with improved humans. His idea was
visionary. At first the changes were great, like my shit had been turned into
money and my piss into beer, but then I started to notice things. Sure, I was super
fucking strong and fast—stronger and faster than anyone I’d ever met—but there
were odd things happening around the base. Secrets being kept from superiors
off-base and people disappearing.

About two months ago, I was given a yellow band to wear
around my left arm and given orders to prevent any person from leaving the base,
with force if necessary. People could enter, they just couldn’t leave. And just
like that, this place turned into Hotel fucking California. I was tempted to
disobey, to inform someone off-base of the coup, but I’d been ordered not to,
and I’d seen what Herodson does to people who disobey him. He likes to use
family members when his freaky ability to convince people to follow his orders
doesn’t work.
Now I know it’s his
Ability
, but I didn’t
understand it then.

His mind control doesn’t work on me as well as it does on
other people. I pretended to go along with everything he said, not questioning
when innocents were hurt or killed, first because I feared for my family’s
safety, and later, after I knew they were dead, for the simple sake of
survival. And for my men…my poor, ignorant, mind-controlled men.

But then Camille showed up and the shit hit the fan. I
tried to help her, to save her from the punishment General Herodson doled out
to unidentified intruders, but the girl I’d once known was gone. She’d been
replaced by a deceitful, dead woman. Maybe I won’t care once I’m dead too. Or
undead. I don’t fucking know how it works, other than I die and they bring me
back like a fucking zombie.

Maybe she couldn’t help it because of what she’s become,
but her betrayal…fuck, it hurts. She was working with Herodson. It was planned,
all of it, like some sort of a sick test. Somehow, Herodson figured out that we
grew up together. For all I know, she flat-out told him. He used that
connection to prove that I was disloyal, that I was a traitor. If I am a
traitor, it’s not for this. If I’m a traitor, I’m a traitor against humanity
and I have been since I first signed up for the trials, since I first let them
inject me with that gene therapy crap, since I first drank the fucking
Kool-Aid.

I suppose it wouldn’t be so bad, that I could accept my
fate as what I deserve for looking the other way for so long, but my men are
dead. I forced them to agree to keep quiet about Camille, and because they
listened to me, because my command momentarily overrode Herodson’s or his
lackeys’ commands, and because they didn’t have useful enough Abilities to
warrant bringing them back as Re-gens, they were killed. They’re dead. He made
me watch while they were executed…shot in the head. Punishment for my
disobedience, he claimed. Apparently I needed to be punished, since becoming a
Re-gen is supposedly a reward. Yeah, like being turned into a walking dead man
is so fucking great.

Maybe I shouldn’t be mad at Camille for what she did. I
know she’s not the same person she once was, that the Re-gen process wipes the
memory slate clean or whatever, but it’s hard not to blame her. Oh, I blame
her, but I mean, it’s hard not to blame MY Camille—the tiny, sensitive girl I
watched over all of my life. That’s where the feeling of betrayal comes from.
But I have to remember that MY Camille is dead, no matter how much this thing
reminds me of her. She’s just…gone.

Good luck, man. Avoid the Kool-Aid and don’t fucking
trust Camille or whatever the fuck they call her…it.

Mase refused to look at Camille as he processed what he’d
read. About her. She’d lied to him.

Dani was standing in front of them, asking Camille
something, but all Mase could think about was Camille. She’d
lied
to
him. She hadn’t been trapped in the warehouse when he’d tried to help her, but
had been intending to trap
him
. She’d been a part of the plan to make
him into a Re-gen and to kill his men. He wondered if she took care of him
afterward because she felt guilty, and then he wondered if it even mattered.

…don’t fucking trust Camille…

Mase flipped through the rest of the papers, but his mind
was too numb to make sense of any of it. With a quick glance at his watch, he
realized he’d wasted enough time—they only had fifteen minutes left, and what
he’d just read jump-started his determination to get out of the Colony. He
needed out.

Rising, Mase felt off-balance. The world had rearranged
itself around him with the reading of a single self-addressed letter.
He snatched Camille’s
folder from her grasp, ignoring her protests, and carried both to Dani. Flashlight
in hand, she was continuing the Re-gens’ search of the file cabinets where
Camille and Mase had left off.

“Dani?” Mase whispered, startling her.

He felt instantly guilty for scaring her, she who’d done
nothing to harm him, and felt even worse when she looked up at him. Her face
was filled with fear. Why? Because Mase was scowling, and his scowl has always
been scary and cruel. It took an effort, but he managed to lose the expression.

“Can you take pictures of the papers in these?” Mase asked,
holding the two folders out. “They’re about me and Camille, and we don’t have
time to read everything right now.”

Dani smiled and took the folders back to the desk. “Were
there files on all the Re-gens?” she asked.

“Looked like it,” Mase told her. Before he could turn away,
Dani’s face blanked. She was completely still, like she’d fallen asleep
standing up and with her eyes open. “Dani? Is something wrong?” Mase reached
across the desk and squeezed her shoulder.

For the briefest moment, she came to. She patted his hand
and said, “Hang on for a minute…I’m asking someone a quick question,” before
returning to her waking sleep. That time, she closed her eyes.

Mase waited, wondering if he should be concerned. He was.

Suddenly, her eyes popped open, and her mouth curved into a
victorious grin. “I’m looking for the file on Becca Vaughn, or maybe Rebecca
Vaughn. She’s supposedly a Re-gen. Can you look for it?”

“Yeah. C’mon, Camille.” Mase could hear the other Re-gen
sniffling on the floor and knew she was crying. It was a sound Mase would
recognize anywhere, and hearing it nearly broke through his anger and
resentment, through the echo of a betrayal felt by a dead man. It was a
struggle not to go to her. His arms wanted to wrap around her, his nose wanted
to inhale her scent, and his lips wanted to touch hers, but there was no way he
would let himself comfort her, not after everything he’d learned.

Slowly, Camille stood and turned back to the file cabinet
without wiping her eyes. Mase wondered what she’d read in her folder. But
curiosity would have to wait. They had work to do.