Prototype (26 page)

S
onya laughs, but she searches for the truth behind the lie she believes I tell.

“You need to give the data-slip to Dr. Malcolm,” I tell her. “Hundreds of lives depend on that information.”

Playing on her sense of duty is the only thing that will get through to her. I know it. She is so stubborn that not even Noah could reach her. But from the moment I saw Sonya through Her eyes, I knew how seriously she took her profession. She will go to any length to save just
one
life. Adrienne is alive today because of her. Someone else would have just let the weeks-old fetus go.

“I don’t believe you,” she says, shaking her head.

Damn it. Why does she have to fight me every step? What will it take to get through to her? A sea of deaths? Frustration and anger burst through the calm facade I have tried maintaining.

I slam my palms against the bars. “I would not lie about this! Look at me, Sonya. Why would I be here if this were not a life-or-death situation? It took Ruby and Lydia dying for Dr. Travista to wake up and realize his precious creations were not
perfect.
You would doom all of us simply to save face? Would you?”

“No. Not them. Just you.”

I push away from the bars. “You must take a lot of pleasure in knowing you were right about me. I will leave them and never come back. Just like you said I would.”

“I take no pleasure in this. You’ve seen his grief with your own eyes. Would you want him to go through that again?”

“But that is exactly what you will do if you hold on to that data-slip. I would save him from that if I could, but unfortunately, this is all in your hands. It is all. About. You.”

She glares at me for a long moment, then, with a sigh, she rubs her tired face. “Jesus. I can’t believe this is happening.”

“Believe it.” My heart drums. I have her.

She looks around her cell, hands on her hips. “I want out of here.”

“I cannot help you with that.”

“You can and you will. I’m not telling you anything. You want that slip? Get me out of here. And you won’t file formal charges against me. That’s the deal.”

My gaze floats to the keypad, which now glows like a beacon. I could type a few numbers and set her free. This could finally be over.

I look down the hall at Noah. His shoulders lift on a deep breath, then slowly lower. A pregnant moment later, he starts forward, I guess to input the number sequence, but I do not need it. I type the numbers that spell out “Europa.” The locks
hiss
and
click
. The bars slide aside.

Sonya starts forward, shaking her head. “Are you that confident Noah will—?”

She steps past the bars and I slam a right hook into her jaw. She buckles over and clasps her face. Pain flares in my knuckles and I shake my hand out. “That’s for taking me back to Declan Burke. And yes, I am sure Noah will let you go.”

Noah reaches out and takes Sonya by the elbow. “Let’s go.”

She stares wide-eyed between the two of us. Her gaze stops on me. “He was there the whole time?”

“Unlike some of us, I try not to do anything behind Noah’s back.”

Noah nods at the door leading out. “You’ll get us the data-slip. Then I want you gone before sunrise.”

Her eyes glass over as she stares at him. “I’m sorry, Noah. I only wanted to protect you and Adrienne.”

“That was never your job,” he says. “Now, where is it?”

 • • • 

Sonya wakes Farrah for the data-slip. Noah is far more surprised than I am to discover they worked together. Only Farrah could have hacked her way into her old station, which was the blip of power I saw during my conversation about meeting Noah in the hologram room. She probably hid the live feed at Declan’s, too.

Without blinking, Noah gives Farrah the same reprieve he has given Sonya. Gone before sunrise or he will put her in Sonya’s old cell. We have more important things to worry about than prosecuting them for treasonous acts.

Noah and I split up after that. He escorts Sonya to her room so she can pack, and I go to wake Dr. Malcolm.

Then we wait. Hours. A day.

Days.

Nervous energy fills the hub. The raid is only hours away. Then destroying the facility. Noah second-guesses the bombing since Dr. Malcolm has had no luck with the data-slip. I think he questions, as I do, whether or not we should take the risk and force the cure from Dr. Travista somehow. The best we can plan for is to duplicate the raid. While teams escort innocent civilians out, Miles and I can search for the facility’s server room and uplink every piece of data we can in the allotted time. The idea is last-minute and leaves Miles and me without a clear destination once inside. The building is so large, we may never find the room.

Two hours before we are set to leave, Noah, Adrienne, and I carve out an hour of alone time in the hologram room. Adrienne has no idea that Noah and I are going on this dangerous mission, and she refuses to let either of us hold her for long.

“I did not think it would be this hard to leave,” I say, watching Adrienne chase seagulls around, flapping her arms.

Noah watches the tide slip forward and kiss the boot heels of his outstretched legs. “It never gets any easier, which is why I want to talk to you about something.”

“What?”

He swivels and rises up to his knees, facing me. I mirror him and our fingers link automatically. Adrienne runs over and squeezes between us. She pushes against Noah’s stomach and grunts from exertion.

I laugh. “Someone hates sharing you.”

When I look up at him, he stares at me, his expression serious. He swallows hard. “I know things are . . . Screw it. Marry me.”

Hot tears spring to my eyes. “Damn it.” A wave of uncontrollable giggles hits me and worsens as the look of confusion deepens the lines in his face.

“What’s so funny?”

“I was going to ask you. I have an entire speech and everything.”

His beaming smile makes my head spin. “You do? Can I hear it?” He lifts Adrienne into his arms to stop her from pushing him. She wriggles to get back down and he sets her aside to chase a new seagull.

He looks at me expectantly and my cheeks warm. I take his hands back in mine and scoot close enough so that our bodies are nearly touching.

“Breathe,” he whispers.

I draw in a needed breath and try to hold his gaze, but it is too hard. I cannot focus on the words while he looks at me with such devotion.

“I do not know exactly how things were before,” I begin, my voice quivering. This will be harder than I imagined. “Why we loved each other or how. And I have a few memories that will forever be precious to me. But the truth is, they are Hers. Not mine.”

Noah’s smile falters and he averts his gaze.

“My first memories of you are frightening,” I say, clinging tight to his hands. “You scared the hell out of me, if I am being honest.”

“I wanted to kill you. Not the best first impression.”

“No, but underneath it all, I was already madly in love with you. I felt it when we touched. In the way you looked at me. Despite everything to the contrary, you seeped into the vast dark of my mind and drew me out.

“My past or Hers, that is how deep an impression you have made on my soul. This is why I know that no matter how this ends, whether it be only days or years, we will always find each other again.

“I know who I am now, and she is naïve and scared
all the time.
She hates this uniform and using weapons of any kind. She does not want to save the world with her own two hands. She wants to leave all this. Live in peace on a beach”—I nod at the scene around us—“with her family. And she does not want to do that as Emma Wade.”

Noah’s eyebrows pinch together. “I don’t understand.”

“I would like to do that as Emma Tucker.”

Adrienne shoves between us again, startling us out of the moment. Noah lifts her, and when he meets my eyes again, they shine with tears.

“Well?” My entire body vibrates with nerves because I have asked him not only to marry me but to consider giving all this up. The resistance and this constant battle against an entire world. I have asked him to leave everything behind for me.

“I resigned this morning,” he says. My jaw drops open and he knuckles it back shut with a laugh. “That’s part of what I wanted to tell you. I want the same thing, which is why I made an offer on the house in Mexico.”

“You . . .
What?
” He is quickly becoming a watercolor through thickening tears.

“The man who owns it is old and I took a chance he’d want to unload it. Turns out he did.” He chuckles. “It helped that I offered him a lot more than what it’s worth.”

“What?”

“The house is small but comes with a lot of land. We’ll build onto it.”

Am I dreaming this conversation? “What?”

“Is that the only word in your vocabulary?”

“No.”

He lifts an eyebrow. “No?”

“Well, the most obvious word I know right now is yes. Will that one do?”

He kisses me, fingers wrapped around the back of my neck, until Adrienne starts trying to push us apart again. We laugh and kiss each side of her face until she wiggles and giggles in Noah’s arm.

“Nate said we can stay until Phillip treats you,” Noah says. He says this as if it is a done deal. I hope he is right.

The mention of Colonel Updike pulls at a growing curiosity. “What is my history with him?”

He gives me a tight smile. “How about I show you?”

He pulls me to my feet and retrieves the tablet off a table in the back. Moments later, the scene changes, but not drastically. Indigo petals lie on the sand. A small group of people stands on either side of an arch where Noah waits with a minister. He wears white pants and shirt, the material flapping in the wind. At the opposite end of the aisle is me. Her. She wears a white, maxi-length sundress. The wind pastes the skirt to thin legs. She reaches out with a smile to the man directly to her left.

“Nate gave you away,” Noah says. “As far as you were concerned, he was the father you never had. The feeling was mutual. He loves you like a daughter. Always has.”

Adrienne squirms to get down. Once freed, she starts running through the hologram of wedding attendees and giggling.

I wrap my arm around his back and watch our first wedding unfold. The relationship between Colonel Updike and me is clear from the moment the procession starts. One thing She got right that I never learned is that family is what you make it. It has nothing to do with blood and everything to do with the connections we nurture throughout our lives. My birth parents are strangers, but I have Noah and Adrienne. Foster. Leigh and Miles. Maybe even Colonel Updike—Nate.

N
oah stands on a desk at the far end of the command center. Every team is separated and grouped in different sections before him. I stand near the back with Miles, the two of us with our own mission, detached from theirs. Watching Noah like this, in his element, makes me wonder why he would ever consider giving this up. He is a natural leader and everyone looks up to him.

“Miss Emma?”

Miles and I look to my right, where Dr. Malcolm gives me a wobbly smile. His fingers play with the seams of his white lab coat, and his gaze bounces between me and Noah at the front of the room.

“Is something wrong?” I ask.

“Can we talk a minute? It’s about the”—he clears his throat—“information you gave me.”

Has he found the data he needs? “Of course.”

Dr. Malcolm and I step into the empty corridor. I glance around and find we are very much alone before diving in to the conversation. “Did you find something?”

His mouth turns down in the corners. He cannot hold my gaze, which makes my stomach sink.

“There was nothing there, was there?”

He holds his hands up between us. “I have been through everything. I don’t actually think the data-slip is
current.
If Arthur Travista did in fact find a cure, there’s no mention of it in these particular notes.

“But I have been monitoring the data stream coming back from your nanites. I may have discovered the source.”

These words knock the air out of me and I double over, bracing against my knees. For a moment, I believed all hope was lost. But it is not. Relieved tears burn my eyes.

“There’s a lot of activity in your pineal gland whenever you . . . black out or dream, which makes sense in a way because the gland produces melatonin. That particular hormone modulates sleep patterns.”

Dr. Malcolm’s smile has returned, as has his bounce. “Did you know the pineal gland is also considered one’s ‘third eye’? And it’s shaped like a little pine cone, hence the name.” He winks. “Anyway, I don’t exactly have a cure, but I’ll dust off my old endocrinology books tonight. Maybe something will stir some ideas.”

I reach out and hug the short man. “You will find it. I know you will. Thank you.”

When I straighten, I find Dr. Malcolm a bright shade of red. “You’re very welcome.” He starts to turn away, double takes, then faces me again. “Good luck tonight. Not that you need it.”

“Wade.” I glance back at Miles, who leans into the hallway. “It’s time. Let’s go.”

I follow him in to find a long line of men and a few women waiting to teleport out. We are all going to a remote destination where several trucks wait to drive us as close to the Alexandria WTC as possible. Those same trucks will take the rescued girls out.

Noah pushes through the crowd dressed head to toe in black. I cannot see a single strand of blond under the mask he has rolled up like a beanie, and black grease paints most of his face. I wear grease too, and I try not to think about how ridiculous I look.

“Were you just talking to Phillip?” he asks, and pulls me out of earshot of the rest of the group.

“He said the information Declan gave Sonya is old. The treatment for whatever is killing the clones is not on there.”

Devastation, not unlike what I just felt, rolls off Noah like a physical entity.

I reach out and grab his hands. “But.”

His eyes snap open. “But?”

“He believes he has found the source. With a little more time . . .”

He scoops me up and hugs me tight. “Thank God.”

Once back on the floor, I glance around to discover we have once again gained a lot of attention. My cheeks warm. “You are doing terrible things to my reputation. Who knew you could be so dastardly.”

“Says the thief of all my good sense.”

I raise his zipper and smooth out his jacket. “Were you not supposed to go in the first group?”

He sighs and looks at the long line. “Yeah. I’m going. Just had to make sure things were okay first.” His eyes light on me. “You ready?”

“I think so. Be careful, okay?”

He kisses me. “Try to come home in one piece this time, all right?”

“Promise.”

 • • • 

I never see Foster or Leigh prior to the attack. They lead their own groups ahead of us. Miles and I watch everyone take position while we hang back in the safety of trees. Like me, he wears his mask rolled up, the black grease enough of a disguise. Others, like Noah, have no such luxury considering they work with the public.

My heart gallops like stampeding bulls in my chest. Sweat prickles my brow though I have yet to really exert myself. I fear for Noah and my friends, though I take comfort in occasionally hearing their voices through my ear com.

The whir of jets zooms overhead and I snap my gaze upward on automatic. Even if I could see through the thick foliage, they are long gone. Fire explodes inside the walls of the compound but nowhere near the actual building itself. The ground rumbles underfoot.

Blood pumps like fire through my veins. My hand aches around the grip of the HK. Reid’s voice barely penetrates the blare of sirens and blast of fire as he orders everyone through the gates.

Miles holds a hand out in front of me, palm splayed as if to stop me. But I already know to wait. Not that I harbor any temptation to run headlong into the fray. A cold sweat breaks out over my skin, and the words “bad idea” play like a song in my head over and over and over. Then there is this part of me who thrills in this. Understands this.

The trouble is, I do not know which personality trait will get me killed the fastest—the coward or the daredevil.

We listen to the transition of squads entering for several minutes. I have memories of this part. Groups facing off members of the guard in teams. One taking the brunt of the attack to allow another past. And another. Until members are inside and retrieving the girls.

“Let’s go,” Miles says, then darts forward in a crouch.

My legs carry me as if pulled by his command, our feet a whisper on the grass. The closer we get, the more my head clears. It is as if I am back in the simulation with Foster, only this is entirely too real. One wrong move and I could die. On the flipside, this must be what living feels like, and I want to soak it into every cell.

Miles and I move through as swiftly as we can, taking down the enemy whenever necessary. I know I should feel guilt for every life I take, and maybe it will come later, but I am too focused on surviving.

We find the side entrance undefended as hoped—any extra security will have run for the brunt of the attack. Inside, the hallway is dark. One long window shows an empty cafeteria with a glow of red security lights blinking on and off.

We take the hallway at a crouch, keeping our heads clear of the glass on the off chance someone is inside with a gun. Near the end, we hear the echoes of grunts, curses, screams, and plasma fire coming from the great hall. Noah is there, according to the com chatter. So is Leigh. Foster has already led a team into one of the dorm wings.

Miles and I stop at the perpendicular hall, backs to the wall, then peer around. The way is clear, and we sprint left, leaving the cacophony of battle behind us.

We are only steps from reaching the next corner, when two men appear with rifles. I go for the one on the right, lifting my gun and preparing to fire. The man spins a back kick at my hands, and my HK clatters to the floor. To my left, Miles and his opponent grunt weaponless in a physical battle of their own.

I parry several attempts to hit my head with the butt of his rifle until he hesitates a second too long. In that moment, I knock his rifle aside with my forearm and swing my fist. He blocks my punch before I make contact. His arms, like iron fetters, force me around. My back to his front. Pinning me against him. My throat braced by the length of his rifle pressing hard into my windpipe. In one swift, well-calculated movement, he has trapped me. Cold metal cuts off my air. I grip the rifle and attempt to push it away, but the man is too strong.

He spins around and rushes toward a brown tiled archway. My heart collides against my ribs as realization strikes. He aims to slam me into the wall. Head first. I do not think as I run up the arch, then push with all the force my legs can afford. We topple backward and the rifle barrel loosens. I suck in a needed breath and, without another moment’s hesitation, ram an elbow into the man’s side, where he is not protected by gear. He grunts and I roll off him.

“Wade!”

Miles’s voice alerts me to the HK he hurtles through the air. I catch the weapon and aim at the man’s head. His brown eyes widen, and his chest lifts in quick, short breaths. His arms rise in surrender.

This is all I need to stop from pulling the trigger. I cannot shoot this man in cold blood. Not like this. But I cannot leave him to hurt someone else, either. I shoulder his rifle, then shoot both his legs just above the knees. His screams echo and collide with the growing torment from the great hall.

Miles’s expression is pinched when I reach him. “Why didn’t you kill him?”

I look at the dead man near his booted feet. “You deal with your conscience and I will deal with mine.”

He quirks me a smile. “Those exist?”

“Ha. Can we go?”

He nods toward the hallway. “This way, my lady.”

The corridor leads directly to a narrow staircase encased in large stone blocks that spiral up at a steep angle. Small, simple lamps hang overhead and dangle far apart from one another. We alternate between being bathed in brilliant light and disappearing in shadow so dark the stairs are invisible. It is by a stroke of luck I do not trip.

Halfway up, the pound of footsteps races toward us.
A lot
of footsteps.

Miles stops. “Wait.” Muscles leaping in his jaw, he glances around, then leads me into the dark. “You’re going to want to shoot to kill this time,” he whispers. “If you don’t mind.”

I can hear the smile in his voice, though I cannot see him at all now. “The only thing you should worry about is losing to a girl.”

He chuckles. “As if.”

I aim into the light and wait, controlling each breath, longing to heave from exertion. My heartbeat drums in my ears. I palm an additional HK from my hip with a too-warm hand.

The soldiers finally appear around the tightly wound corner, shoulder to shoulder. My guess is they planned to surprise our group in the great hall by coming in from behind. The dark hides us, but we are still only two against . . . I cannot count how many.

“Now,” Miles says.

The first few men are easy to take out. Bodies crowd the way down, making it impossible for anyone to come closer. If they try, we kill them. Several stay and shoot aimlessly into the dark. Others duck around the corner, where it is safe.

Miles and I back into the light and take cover in a deep inset of wall with a high shelf. Loose cobbles of rock make it hard for my boots to grip. I kneel facing the inset’s curved stone, shooting around the corner whenever a new soldier appears.

Miles kneels behind me, one hand on my waist for balance, the other shooting up the stairs. We stay like this for what feels like an eternity. My legs scream, and my shoulder aches from holding the HK up for so long.

The soldiers either are all dead or have run. Either way, the firefight ends with the two of us unharmed.

Miles rests his forehead against my back and breathes deep. “That was close.”

My heart feels bruised due to the rapid
thunk
ing
against my rib cage. “Yeah.”

“Hold tight while I make sure it’s clear. Watch my back.”

I lean out and aim a gun in both directions, listening for any sound that does not belong to us. Finally, Miles motions the all clear and we continue up the stairs until we reach a turret with an open area surrounded by crenellations. I glance over the side to see the back of the compound. Members of our team lead a stream of girls into the woods. The girls are older, telling me they are nearing the last of the groups. The younger girls are always rescued first.

“Almost there, Wade,” Miles says behind me.

We find another hallway inside. Three uneventful turns later, we end up in a small room lined with computer equipment. Lights of various colors wink from black servers. Video screens high on the walls run a live feed.

Miles positions himself behind the desk and places a flat black disc on the surface of the main hard drive. A red light blinks from the center. He taps his com. “Jaybird and Prototype in position. Uploading data now.”

After a quick file search, he says, “Server number is 937.”

We run along the multiple rows, and several stacks of servers later, I locate the correct one. “Here.”

Miles kneels and reaches behind, his expression strained as he works blindly to disconnect the back. Sweat streams down his temples. Something pops, and he grins. “Just like a woman’s bra clasp.”

I roll my eyes. “Focus.”

He jerks the server free of the shelf. “Sort of takes the fun out of things, don’t you think?”

From the back, Miles pulls a clear data-slip from a slot. I remove a protective shell from one of my zippered pockets and hand it over so he can tuck it inside for safekeeping.

I tap my com. “Target acquired.”

“You heard her. Let’s finish this up,”
Noah says.
“Detonation in ten minutes.”

I release a sigh of relief. He is okay. We are both okay, and this is almost over.

Miles taps my shoulder and winks. “Let’s get the fuck out of here.”

The main stairs are close and we take them to the second-level hallway overlooking the grand entryway. Bodies lie everywhere. Blood spatter darkens the brown-tiled walls. The enemy soldiers seem to be missing, and a few stragglers from our groups sprint for the exit. Reid is with them, waving them past. Foster and Leigh bring up the rear.

I should have been paying more attention to the hallway I pass, but I am anxious to reach the next set of stairs. Someone large barrels into me and we hit the stone railing. My shoulder and arm go numb on impact.

Miles is already partially down the stairs when the noise forces him to spin around. At least five men surround me and I lose sight of him. Someone strikes me in the jaw, sending a wave of pain through my face. Darkness threatens to sweep me under. Another man yanks my beanie off so hard he pulls my hair. The freed locks cloud my vision until a grip jerks my head back and parts the strands. The heated end of a gun presses to my temple.