Resist (15 page)

I have to turn away because I'm jealous of the water and the way it gets to caress him. “It's safer not to go out.”

“Fine with me. I'm exhausted anyway.” He throws the towel aside and flops on the empty bed.

A minute passes in silence. Kyle stares at the ceiling, his tiredness evident in every line of his face. His chest rises and falls heavily, and my gaze sticks to him like glue. I'm mesmerized by those fine dark hairs that run down the planes of his stomach.

Bad Sophia. Even if things were back to normal between us, there's no time for these emotions or salacious thoughts.

I drag my gaze back to the menu, but I have it memorized already so I toss it to Kyle. “Your parents are okay, I guess?” I'm assuming he'd have mentioned otherwise.

Kyle rolls onto his stomach and idly checks the menu. “Yeah. They're on the road. We have a fallback place. I guess you could call it a safe house.”

“Smart.” The more I learn about Kyle's family, the more impressed I am with the extent of the precautions they've taken.

“Yeah.” He yawns. “I hoped we'd never have to go there. It's isolated, packed with guns and bottled water and, well, you get the idea.”

“A bunker?”

“More or less, but it blends in with the community.” Kyle pushes his hair out of his face. “They want me to join them as soon as possible.”

I run my finger down the floral pattern on the scratchy comforter. “It sounds like you'd be safe there. If it's what you planned, it makes sense for you to go so you can create your new identities together.”

He chews his lip then flings the menu aside. “Do you want me to leave?”

That's a loaded question, and I look over at him with a frown. “I want you to be safe. That's what I've always wanted.”

“Doesn't answer my question.”

I close my eyes. “Do I want you to go far away where I don't know when I'll see you next? No. Definitely not. And I hope I haven't said or done anything else stupid to suggest it. I just…” I take a deep breath. “I've already put you in danger once. I don't want to do it again. But it's your choice. I don't want you to leave, but I think you'd be safer doing it.”

I can't tell if that satisfies him or not. He hangs his head, and hair falls into his face. “I probably would be safer, temporarily anyway.”

“If you agree, then maybe you should go.” The pain in my heart when I suggest it makes me wince.

Kyle drums his fingers against the bed, staring at the comforter. “If I go, I can't be a part of your plans for taking down RedZone. Not that I should be, I suppose. I'm not a soldier, but we'll never be safe while they're around. I want to do
something
.”

There's no argument I can make against that wish. Not that I'm inclined to try. Kyle's life has been ruined by RedZone since before he was born. Just like mine. He'll be safer if he leaves the planning and tactics to us, but he won't be as happy.

Safety versus happiness. Security versus freedom. These are the concepts I've had to grapple with since I went to RTC, and the relationships I've had to sort out. Cole made me feel safe. Kyle makes me feel free. There's risk in that freedom, but like Kyle, I don't think I can be happy without the freedom to choose it.

I used to be content with the one until I discovered the other.

I realize I've been crushing the comforter in my turmoil. “You deserve to be a part of our decisions if you want to be, but just because you're with your parents, doesn't mean you won't be part of them. We can talk, you know. It's not like phones or the Internet are off-limits. We'll simply need to be cautious.”

Kyle looks up at me at last. “I know, but that's not all.”

“What else is there?” My heart pounds.
Say it's me. Say you don't want to leave me either.

“I don't want to leave you.” His expression is sheepish, and I'm lightheaded with relief. “I'll be worried about you the whole time.”

“I can take care of myself.” Why am I encouraging this? Selfish though it is, I don't want to encourage this. “And I'll have my unit around me. I couldn't be surrounded by more badass people.”

“Yeah.” He snorts. “Including Cole.”

“What do you have against Cole?” I'm certain I have the answer, but I can't stop from asking. Maybe it's my ego again, or conversely, my insecurity. I have to hear Kyle say it.

“Only the way he looks at you.” Kyle shrugs. “And I still think he's selling you out to Malone. But I admit, I only started thinking that because…”

I can't take this distance between us any longer, and I glide off my bed and join Kyle on his. There's something familiar about the way the bed shifts beneath me as I inch closer to him. He rolls onto his side, not backing away but as if inviting me to come closer. Alone at last, with at least the illusion of safety, the inches between us no longer feel like miles. They are mere inches, but there are still too many as his breath brushes my face.

“Cole's like a brother to me.” I swallow. I'm dizzy from this closeness and the scent of the hotel's lemongrass soap that clings to Kyle's skin. Words tumble from my lips. “I won't pretend there wasn't a time when I thought there was more to it, but that's not true anymore. I loved Cole before I went to RTC, and I'll always love him, but not like that. Not what you're thinking. When I met you, I realized things could be different. You make me feel things I never felt with Cole. Things I like feeling. When I discovered you were the person Malone sent me to find at RTC, I was willing to risk everything to help you disappear. That wasn't an easy decision, and I obviously screwed it up, but I love you and—”

There's no “and”. Kyle grabs my lips with his, and my brain shuts down. My world careens out of control. I pull him tighter, greedily grasping what I've been denied for too long and what I was afraid I'd never have again.

It feels like he's doing the same. He climbs on top of me, pinning me to the bed, arms wrapped around me. My fingers dig into the smooth muscles of his back. I can't let go. Will never let go.

Kyle slides one arm out from under me and brushes my cheek with his thumb. “You know the worst part of when Malone's goons found me? The worst part wasn't being captured or expecting to die horribly or even worrying about my family. I figured they would survive. The worst part was believing you'd betrayed me.”

“I did betray you.”

“Not on purpose.”

“Well, no. But I am responsible for the things that have happened to you.”

Kyle puts a finger over my lips. “Don't say it. Don't apologize again. It wasn't your fault, and you fixed your mistake. We escaped because of you.”

He shouldn't have had to escape, but I do as he asks and don't apologize. Instead I kiss his finger, and I adjust my body, entwining my legs with his. Kyle takes the hint, and his finger disappears, replaced by the softness of his lips once more.

It's like old times, like being back in his dorm room when we'd have to sneak our alone time while his roommate was at class. Though Cole was the first person I ever kissed, Kyle was my first in every other way. But underlying all of our time together was a sense of danger. Back then, I didn't know Kyle was my target, but I feared he was a threat. The risk of being with him was part of the thrill.

That thrill is gone, replaced by something truly dangerous—the understanding of how much I need him in my life. How dependent my happiness has become on his. And the thrill I feel now is in the rejoicing that I have him back. Even if it's only temporary. Even if our world crashes and burns again tomorrow, I can have this moment.

I'm torn between wanting to devour the time and savoring it. Mostly, I think we end up doing the former, but that's okay. The memory will be there for savoring.

As long as I never, ever have a malfunctioning implant again.

Chapter Seventeen

Wednesday Evening: Two Days After Escape

A couple hours later I'm relaxed in a way even the hot shower couldn't manage. Our room service has arrived, and Kyle and I sit knee to knee on one of the beds, eating overpriced sandwiches.

We're both more beat now than we were when we arrived, and in lieu of talking, I put on the TV. At RTC, I made a habit of checking the news every day. The need to stay alert about what was going on in the world was drilled into me at the camp. Of course, the irony was that RedZone heavily restricted and monitored our ability to learn the most useful information. They wanted us to know only what they wanted us to know. The real world was quite an eye-opening experience for me in so many ways.

Kyle and I watch in silence as a video about an environmental summit in Prague plays across the screen. Then the camera flips back to the studio anchor, and a
Breaking News
graphic flashes above his head.

“Next up,” the anchor says, “is a breaking story about a possible terrorist attack at a college outside of Boston. Details are arriving now.”

My onion ring falls from my fingers. Beneath me, the bed shifts, and I can tell Kyle has become as tense as I have. And I know—just
know
—which school is going to show up on the video before it begins to play.

The screen switches to a reporter standing in front of the large sign at Robert Treat College's main entrance. In the background is the colonial brick architecture of the administration building. Although I was expecting it, my stomach nonetheless sinks.

“What is believed to be some kind of biological or chemical attack occurred here about an hour ago,” the reporter is saying. “Authorities are piecing together what happened, but here's what we know so far. A little after four o'clock this afternoon, seven students at this small, liberal arts college all began experiencing similar symptoms of illness. Within minutes, onlookers say they collapsed.”

Kyle swears.

“The students' names are not being released yet, but they've been identified as mostly sophomores and juniors. Not all were in the same location during the incident. Authorities are saying their symptoms, and the resultant comas they are currently in, bear a striking resemblance to an attack on a New York City prep school earlier this year. For that reason it is believed the incidents might be related. Unfortunately, authorities have no more information on how those students were stricken, or why only some became ill at the time, but we can tell you that the FBI and CDC are on the scene. The area is currently in lockdown for testing, and authorities are urging everyone to remain calm. Since some of the students were reportedly in crowded areas at the time they fell ill, it does not appear that whatever happened to them is spreading.”

No, it wouldn't spread. Not if this is the same type of biological attack that was used in New York. I'm going to be sick myself though.

“With the school semester ending tomorrow, Robert Treat College is urging any remaining students and their families to cooperate with authorities as they pack and leave for the upcoming holiday break. Local organizations and student groups are—”

I turn off the TV, and I clamp my lips together, trying to hold down my dinner.

Seven students were attacked. Were targeted. I'd bet I could name them all. I'd bet Malone chose them from the list of contacts on my phone. These are my friends. Though I took that phone with me when I left and destroyed the parts that needed destroying, Malone created and paid for the account. He would have access to all the data.

So stupid. I should have deleted it. Why didn't I delete it? Why didn't it seem important enough with everything else we had going on?

I can hear Kyle breathing, and his face is pale as he turns to me. “This is them, isn't it?”

I nod because it takes a moment for me to find my voice. “It's RedZone. It's Malone. They've done it before, or rather they created and sold the technology for doing it to other people. Malone called the technique Project Pinpoint.”

“What is that?”

I cover my remaining food with room service's metal lid. The smell is increasing my nausea. “RedZone figured out a way to create viruses that are targeted to specific people's DNA. All they would have to do is release the virus somewhere on campus—put it in the water for all I know—and it would only affect those it was designed to hit. It's a bio-weapon. The news got that much correct.”

“Targeted.” I can see Kyle working through the implications.

I don't help him because I can't force myself to say them aloud. Not yet. This is my fault too. These people were targeted because they were my friends, or because Malone suspected they were. It doesn't make much difference. They were part of my cover, and he had to assume—rightly—that I came to care about them.

Because I'm an HY, and everyone at the camp knows us HYs are too emotional. We aren't the perfect machines they wanted us to be, simply capable of mimicking emotions without feeling them. But I want to be that perfect right now. I want to be dead inside. I've gone from something like happiness to horror and guilt in the time it took a newsfeed to switch a camera.

“So you think the people who are sick were chosen specifically?” Kyle flexes his hands.

“Yes, and if I had to guess who they were…” I pull my knees in. “Audrey, Yen, Chase.”

I can easily rattle off the names of ten people in our shared group of friends whose names were in my contact list. It could be any of them. It could have been all of them, except some had likely already left campus for the semester.

Kyle swears. “We have to do something.
I
have to. What I told you before—it's even more true. I want to take down Malone, Sophia. I need to destroy their whole organization.”

“We will.” The determination hardens my despair into something more useful, but it provides no answers as to how to do it. Worse, our timetable has gotten shorter. To my knowledge, only RedZone can supply the cure that ends the comas because the cure uses the same technology as the disease, and both are years ahead of what real-world medicine can do.

As I think it through, I realize what this means. Malone didn't do this as petty revenge or even to draw me out. That would be too crude. He's sending me a message, yes. But there's a piece I'm missing. He knows I'm not dumb enough to rush back to the camp on a suicide mission after I just escaped.

So where's the rest of the message?

As if in response, my phone rings. Kyle climbs off the bed and paces while I answer.

“Soph, it's me.” I recognize Jordan's voice. “Can you get online?”

The knot in my stomach tightens uncomfortably, and I cast a glance at my backpack. We brought along mostly weapons with a change of clothes. “I have an e-sheet, but I'm not sure I can set up any kind of secure connection from it where I am. What's going on?”

“Don't risk it then. I was going to point you toward RedZone. I'll send you screenshots instead.”

I join Kyle in pacing. My shock has worn off, and I need to move. “Of what?”

“Since we've had a moment to breathe, we decided our best next move was to try to keep tabs on RedZone.”

“Well, yeah.” I check my phone, but Jordan hasn't sent anything yet. I impatiently gesture for her to get on with it even though it's not like she can see me. Kyle does, however, and I can tell I just worried him further.

“It's obviously going to take some time if we want to hack the camp without being detected, so Summer and Octavia started to work on it. We thought the easiest way in might be through the back door that's set up for agents traveling with less than ideal connections.”

“And?”

“Malone or Fitz or someone must have suspected we'd try something like that.”

My heart speeds up in alarm. “Are you all right?”

“Oh, we're fine. Summer swears there's no way they can trace our connection back to us, but Malone left a message. It's ostensibly for all of us, but it's obviously aimed at you. I'm sending it.”

I make myself sit, afraid of what's going to pop up on my phone, although I have a good idea Malone's message is related to the RTC attack. Sure enough, it's as I predicted.

Seven students at Robert Treat are in comas. One student for each of you who left. Rogue members of unit HY1, you should know this is your doing. Your insubordination has left us with no other recourse.

This was not our first choice. In your brains are millions of dollars of R&D, training and expertise that you have stolen from the people who raised you and cared for you. We don't want to damage you, so we are hoping for the sake of the innocents that you are ready to cooperate.

We have the cure, and it's capable of being administered within twenty-four hours. All you have to do is turn yourselves in and bring X with you. The RTC students will be cured in time to be with their families for the holidays, and no harm will come to you. This is a promise. But decide soon. This offer will not last forever, and worse fates can befall people than reversible comas.

I read the message three times. The first time confirms what I suspected about Malone's reasons for the attack. The second time is to marvel at how Malone twists our situation around, trying to make it sound like we're the bad guys. And the third time is simply to indulge my fury.

Kyle appears, reading over my shoulder. He curses enough for the both of us.

Jordan's voice cuts back in. “You there?”

“Yeah, I'm here. I only found out about the attack at RTC minutes before you called. Malone must have expected when the news hit that we'd be trying to confirm he was behind it.”

“I'd say it's been confirmed. And I suppose X refers to the mutant?”

Kyle must be able to hear her, and he scowls. I put a hand on his. “X is how Malone referred to Kyle before we knew his name. Which is not mutant.”

“Cut me some slack. I need to find some humor here.”

I rub my eyes, failing to find humor anywhere. “Whatever. Shit.”

“You're not going to do it, are you?” Jordan asks.

Turn myself in? My blood runs cold at the thought. On the other hand, I need to save my RTC friends, and I don't see another way. “I don't know what I'm going to do yet. Let's meet.”

After we set up a rendezvous for tomorrow, I hang up to find Kyle staring at me. “Turning ourselves in is no guarantee that Malone will do what he promises.”

Of course it's not. I wouldn't trust Malone to tell me the weather forecast. But the clock is ticking down. My friends need me—us—to do something. Unless one of us can think of a better idea, I don't know what else to do.

“I want to destroy these people.” Kyle's knuckles are white as he grips the back of a chair.

When we escaped from the camp, I wanted to minimize the destruction and violence. I told myself I should be better, should be more, than the weapon I was created to be. And leaving Malone alive when I had the chance to kill him, that was proof that I could be.

I regret that decision more than ever. Righteous anger burns in my veins.

“I want to too,” I say. But the question remains: how?

Some processor in my implants starts counting the unknown number of seconds we have before Malone amps up the threat. Although I finally have a soft bed, I doubt I'll get any sleep tonight.