The Decaying Empire (The Vanishing Girl Series Book 2) (21 page)

We didn’t speak as we made our way past the surrounding cabins and the abandoned campfire. It wasn’t until we’d climbed another quarter mile or so that Caden dropped the bag, and I got to work.

I opened the backpack and handed the rubber gloves to Caden, who slipped them on.

“You sure you want to do this right now?” He eyed my exposed arm. At some point since I’d entered the cabin, he’d figured out exactly what I had in mind.

“Please don’t give me an out,” I said, already dreading the coming pain. “I might take you up on it.”

He nodded solemnly. “Then wet my hands with rubbing alcohol.”

I did so, watching as Caden rubbed them together. Then I doused the knife, blade to handle, using one of the cotton swabs to rub the antiseptic around.

“I tried to get a scalpel, but—”

Caden flashed me a kind smile. “This is fine, angel,” he said, taking the knife from me. He nodded toward the bottle. “Now your skin.”

I wetted another swab with the alcohol, rubbing it over the bump on my upper arm, as well as the surrounding skin. The chill of the liquid and the familiar smell set me on edge. Pain always accompanied that smell.

Lastly I grabbed the tweezers and disinfected them. These I’d have to hold on to.

Caden nodded again, this time toward the bag. “I threw in a towel.” He didn’t need to elaborate; it was there in case I needed something to bite down on. I pulled it out and twisted it.

It won’t hurt enough to really be necessary,
I tried to console myself.

Caden took a deep breath. “Ready for this, angel?”

Pleasant warmth spread low in my belly; the champagne was finally doing its job. I nodded, looking into the distance. “Let’s do it.” I clenched the towel between my teeth.

He wrapped a hand around my arm and pressed the blade of the knife into my skin.

I bit down hard on the gag when I felt the first sickening slice, more to prevent myself from jerking my arm away than from the actual pain. Okay, so maybe the towel was necessary.

Caden made one smooth stroke, then another. I chanced a glance at him.

He wore that intense look he sometimes got when he thought no one was looking. The one that told me he missed nothing.

His eyes flicked up to me. “You’re doing great.”

I rolled my eyes and smiled around the gag, trying to act like I was too brave for his soothing words.

Caden’s eyes crinkled as he smiled back at me. “I fucking adore you, angel.”

His gaze lingered for only a moment more, and then they dropped back to his work. He made another incision. I thanked the stars that Caden knew how to wield a knife—that he’d cut enough human flesh to know how much pressure to apply to minimize pain and maximize the accuracy of the incision. Ironic that his exposure to violence would be what made him so capable at this.

My arm shook as rivulets of blood snaked down it. Even with a light buzz, the pain overwhelmed me.

“Tweezers,” he said.

I placed them in his hand.

Carefully he slipped the pointed tip of the tool beneath my skin. I bit down harder on the gag when I felt the strange, tugging sensation on top of the pain. A new wave of agony accompanied each pull. I closed my eyes, fighting back my rising nausea.

“There,” Caden said a minute later.

I blinked and then opened my eyes. Pinched between the prongs of the tweezers Caden held was the GPS device.

I held out my good hand, and he dropped the tracker into it. I swiftly wiped it off and tossed it into my bag.

“I need you to pour alcohol on the knife and the incision. Can you do that?” Caden asked.

Again I gave him a look. I’d survived a gunshot wound and splicing. This might hurt like a mother, but I could handle sterilizing the open wound on my shoulder.

I grabbed the rubbing alcohol and poured the liquid over the incision. My arm muscles spasmed as the alcohol stung my skin, and my eyes teared up at the sensation.

Once I’d drenched my wound, I began to work on the knife.

Caden watched me the entire time, some strange combination of pain and pride burning in his eyes. “This next part’s gonna hurt,” he said. “Are you ready?”

By way of answer, I grabbed the lighter and motioned for the knife. Caden accommodated, holding the knife out. I clicked the lighter on, and the flame licked the edge of the blade. My nostrils flared at the smell of singed blood.

Neither of us had discussed cauterizing the wound, but we both knew we’d have to if I didn’t want to chance getting spliced.

“That’s good,” Caden said a short while later. “Now, go ahead and douse the wound with alcohol one more time.”

I did so, wincing at the sting of the liquid. As soon as I stopped, Caden gripped my arm and pressed the flat side of the knife to the wound.

I couldn’t help it—I screamed into the gag.

“I’m sorry, angel,” he murmured, removing the metal from my skin. He assessed his handiwork. “I think two more rounds is all we’ll need.”

Only two.

We repeated the steps. I heated the blade with the flame; this time my uninjured hand shook. Again Caden pressed it to the wound, holding my arm in place when I reflexively tried to jerk it away.

My eyes fluttered from the shock of pain. When I was younger, I’d been asked whether I’d rather die by fire or water. I’d jokingly replied that I’d rather go up in a ball of flame.

After the third time Caden had placed the heated blade to my skin, I decided that I was never going to joke about that again.

“There,” he said, removing the blade.

I spit out the gag and stared at my arm. Right now it was a red, bloody mess, but I could tell the wound had closed. “Looks good.”

Caden leaned across me and rummaged around in my bag until he grabbed the roll of gauze. Carefully he wrapped the wound, tying the two exposed ends together. The injury was tender to the touch.

Pride welled within me. We’d removed the GPS tracker.

“Balls of fucking steel.” Caden shook his head. “I’m in love with a girl with balls of fucking steel.”

I flashed him a tired smile, and then I disappeared.

I found myself in Adrian’s living room. He lounged on the couch, his legs propped up on the coffee table in front of him. At least until he realized I’d joined him.

Adrian jolted in his seat, almost overturning the laptop perched on his legs. He swore under his breath. “I hate it when you do that.”

“I’ll try to be more subtle next time,” I said, taking in Adrian’s living room. I made it here—and in one piece too. I lifted the sleeve of my shirt and assessed Caden’s work. The wound still looked angry, but it had healed rather than reopened.

Dropping my sleeve, I returned my gaze to Adrian. “Homeboy, we need to talk.”

He closed his laptop and set it aside. “I’m all ears, homeskillet.”

“I need you to knock out a power grid this coming Sunday.”

Adrian did a double take at my words. “Do you want to pass that by me again?”

“I got moved to the Project’s Montana facility, and I’m helping coordinate a prison break in a week. I need you to take out the power to make that possible.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Adrian said, putting his hands up like they could stop the words coming out of my mouth. “You want me to do what in under a week?”

“Knock out a grid,” I repeated.

“You want me to knock out an entire grid just so that you and your pair can escape.”

“Um, about that. There’s been a slight change in plans. Now four of us are escaping,” I said, reaching over to take a sip of Adrian’s coffee.

“
Four?
What happened to two?”

I bit my thumbnail. “Well, technically five. One’s eggo preggo.”

Adrian massaged his temples. “So let me get this straight. You want me to cause a blackout—a blackout—at the Montana facility in a week, and then you want me to coordinate the rescue of four teleporters?”

“Five,” I corrected, “and yeah.”

Adrian pushed off the couch and began pacing across the room. “Ember, that’s not—” He shook his head.

“Do you have the ability to temporarily knock out a power grid?”

“Well, technically, yes, but—”

“That’s the only way me or anyone else is getting out of that facility.”

“You couldn’t do it with the power on?”

“Honestly, I don’t know, but the teleporter who blackmailed Caden and me into joining him seems to think it’s the only way.”

“Wait, you’re being blackmailed into escaping now?”

I huffed. “Yeah, everyone and their mother want a piece of me. Will you do this?”

Adrian looked highly uncomfortable. I didn’t blame him; I’d backed him into a wall. I knew all about getting cornered and coerced.

“Ember, I don’t know if I can do it. There are people I need to talk to and new plans I’m going to need to map out now that you’re no longer in California. Not to mention that I’m going to have to convince some powerful people to smuggle two extra teleporters out of the country.”

I deflated at his words. Of course the world didn’t just stop what it was doing and attend to my impossible needs. Because that was what they were—impossible.

“Hey now,” Adrian said, crossing the room to grasp my upper arms. I grimaced as his grip jostled my cauterized wound. “I’ll try my best.”

From the look in his eye, I knew he would.

His eyes moved over my face, his pupils dilating. His lips parted to speak again. “Ember, I—”

I stepped away from him, spooked by the expression he wore.

Adrian’s hand fell to his side, and the moment passed. “Why did they move you?” Adrian asked, walking back to the couch and picking up his coffee from the table.

Muscles I didn’t know I had tensed now loosened at the subject change. “Dane Richards suspected Caden and I were planning escape.”

“So they moved you to the breeding facility?” Adrian gripped the mug he held too tightly, his knuckles whitening.

“You know about that?”

“I’ve done my research.”

I skimmed my fingers along a side table as I wandered across the room. “That’s one of the reasons they revived me. To prevent my pair from dying and to produce more teleporters.”

“That’s sickening.”

I paused and stared down at the table, still littered with framed photos just as it had been almost a year ago. In many of them was the man who birthed it all—Adrian’s father.

“It is,” I said softly.

Adrian sighed. “Listen, Ember, regardless of what happens on my end, escaping the facility is only the first obstacle you face. You’d still have to make the journey to the safe house here in Zurich.”

“I know.” Neither Caden nor I had fleshed out our plans for after we left—aside from running like hell—but evading capture would test our abilities.

“You need to get yourself across the border as quickly as possible,” Adrian continued. “Canada’s not a great option, but it is the closest one for you now. The Project will act quickly once they realize you’re gone.”

Adrian grabbed a pen and a piece of paper off the coffee table and scribbled out a phone number. He handed it to me. “Memorize this and share it with the other three teleporters,” he said. “It’s a private line. If you need to get ahold of me at any time, use it.”

I reached for the sheet of paper, but Adrian didn’t let go. “If this number gets compromised, you’ll lose communication with me, aside from these visits, so plan your calls wisely.”

I nodded, taking the slip from him. I memorized the number and handed the note back to him. “Thank you,” I said quietly.

He smiled grimly, his eyes hard. “Good luck
. . .
and stay safe.”

I appeared with a gasp and fell to my knees.

“Angel, are you all right?” Caden asked, rushing to kneel next to me. He laid a hand on my arm.

“Yeah,” I said a bit breathlessly. I pushed myself up to my feet.

“Where’d you go this time?” Caden asked, handing me my clothes.

I gave him a grateful smile and began to dress. “Adrian’s.”

“Again?” Caden asked incredulously.

“It’s those lodestones—he’s figured out how to draw me to his place. Nothing else.” Except that I’d desperately wanted to see him to discuss our escape. “He doesn’t know if he’ll be able to shut down the power here, but he did give us a number to call once we escape.”