The Replaced (18 page)

In this case, we were talking about a girl’s life forever altered by someone she should’ve been able to count on. All things considered, no wonder she had trust issues.

“They did. And when she came back—the way so many of us do—she was never the same.” He shuddered. “But you have to remember, it’s not like she was the first to be taken. Thom was taken before she was,” he told me, and I thought about that. Natty had mentioned that Thom had barely been a teen when he’d been taken, sometime before the 1950s. But that made him, what, at least in his seventies, didn’t it?

I pictured him the way he was now, aged so much slower, the way all of us would age. He looked older than the rest of us, sure, but not by much . . . twenty, maybe twenty-one years old, but definitely
not
an old man.

I’d vaguely considered the way I’d had to leave my friends and my parents so I couldn’t hurt them, but I’d never really thought about what they would mean down the road. Like what my life would be like in twenty . . . thirty . . . fifty years.

As far as I could tell, from the way the other Returned were living, it would be exactly the same as it was now. I’d be living the same way, with the same people . . . trying not to be caught by those who hunted us.

The idea was depressing.

No wonder Griffin was angry.

But Simon was still talking. “To hear her tell it, when she tells it at all, she might as well have been the first.”

“How so?” I asked.

“Dear Old Dad wasn’t quite done with her after she was returned. He wasn’t satisfied with making her a sacrifice. He was a scientist, and he wanted to know just what they’d done to her, and how—if at all—she’d changed. She became like his very own home science kit.”

“That’s sick.”

“You’re telling me,” Simon agreed.

“No wonder she hates the government so much. Her dad must’a done a number on her head.”

“Her dad and everyone else at the lab. She became property of the US military after that.”

“For how long?” I asked, feeling a stab of guilt for judging her so quickly and so harshly.

Simon’s voice bled into the shadows. “Until she killed him.”

“Her own dad?” I asked, rubbing my arms absently. “What happened?”

“He never realized how much she hated him for what he’d done. One day, he came to take a blood sample from her, and when he wasn’t looking, she cut his safety suit with a scalpel she’d stolen. She’d been waiting for an opportunity like that . . . for her chance to get even.

“She could’ve used the knife to cut through her straps and escape—she’d had the time. But instead she’d hidden it and plotted her revenge. The thing was, he didn’t even realize what she’d done right away; it wasn’t until the symptoms started setting in that they even thought to check his suit for damage. He never suspected she was planning a thing, and he didn’t take enough precautions against her. His own fault, really. He was a goner the second the exposed air reached his lungs. Poor guy never had a chance,” Simon finished.

But I didn’t share Simon’s sympathy for Griffin’s dad. It was hard to feel bad for a man who’d sentenced his very own daughter to a lifetime of being less than human. He’d taken away her chance at an ordinary-everyday-normal life. Of growing up and growing old. Of going to school and graduating and having a family. “That
poor guy
was responsible for changing her in the first place. She never asked for what he did. For the rest of us, it happened by chance. What he did was on purpose,” I argued.

Then something struck me.

“Kind of like what I did to Tyler?” I asked, but I asked it flatly, and Simon just shook his head, wearing an expression that said he saw right through me: I didn’t mean it. Which was true, because I didn’t.

“That’s not even kinda the same.”

I’d known Tyler would never be able to see his friends or his family again when I’d decided to let him be taken, but I
hadn’t
known a thing about the
not-
human part. Besides, even if I had, he would have died if I hadn’t done anything at all.

Not much of a decision, if you asked me.

But understanding more about Griffin, suddenly I wasn’t so sure I
didn’t
want to stay with her at Blackwater. To train with her army.

Except I knew that wasn’t true either, not really. I was angry—for her and for myself and for all of us—but I’d never be
that
angry. I’d never been a rage-against-the-machine kind of girl.

Cat had been the one who had causes. She’d been the one to boycott big businesses and start petitions and join groups to raise social awareness. I’d always been along for the ride. Even if I did stay at Blackwater Ranch, that’s what I’d be doing, going along for the ride.

I didn’t have that kind of fire in my heart, no matter how much I hated the way the Daylight Division was relentless in their pursuit to capture us. I would still rather steer clear of them than try to take them down, because to me, you might
as well be Jack trying to slay the giant. Even if we managed to take one down, they always had more giants.

They had more resources than we ever would.

Besides, I still couldn’t wrap my brain around this whole us-versus-them thing.

In my mind, I was still one of them. Maybe not Agent Truman and his Daylight Division, but regular people, like my parents and my little brother, Logan. Like Cat and Austin and all the kids I’d gone to school with, who even though they were older than I was now, were still the same ones I’d grown up with my whole life. It didn’t matter that I could see in the dark or needed less sleep. None of those things changed the fact that when it came down to it, I was the same dorky girl I’d always been. I still liked to watch
The Little Mermaid
over and over again and to sing at the top of my lungs in the shower, and I wanted to play softball and be kissed like I was the only girl in the world.

I mean, weren’t those the things that made me who I was, not the fact that if I concentrated super hard, I could levitate a book with my mind, which when you really thought about it, so could a lot of guys in Vegas who wore sparkly suits and did magic tricks.

It seemed to me, those of us who’d been returned should be on the same side as everyone else, even if we were
different
now.

“You don’t have to agree with Griffin,” Simon said, getting up and standing in front of me. “But it helps to understand where she’s coming from,” which was probably
true of everyone if you stopped to think about it.

His hand moved then, and his thumb skimmed the underneath of my chin, slipping beneath my jaw. “I’m glad you’re okay,” he said. “And no matter what happens, now that Tyler’s back, I’ll still be here for you, Kyra. Always.”

Then he bent forward and his lips pressed a soft kiss on my forehead. And before I could tell him no, or stop, or this so wasn’t a good idea, he’d already turned around and left me all alone.

Nothing happens until something moves
.

—Albert Einstein

IT DIDN’T TAKE LONG FOR NATTY AND I TO FIGURE
we were stuck in this weird kind of limbo—not really being detained, but still . . . kind of being
watched
. Nyla was no longer stationed outside our tent, and she hadn’t been replaced by another guard or anything. But we also weren’t completely free to roam the camp.

Natty was the one who figured that part out, when she’d gone out exploring. It was at the same time Simon had stopped by to check on me.

She told me about her strange experience as we hunched over a plate of fresh berries and sliced cheeses that evening in
the cafeteria, pretending not to be aware of the sharp-eyed glances directed our way.

Natty thought she was only being paranoid at first. But when the same blond girl kept popping up wherever she went, no matter how hard she tried to ditch her, she realized she was being tailed.

Eventually the girl approached her, suggesting Natty should go back to our tent, using some lame excuse about Natty having had enough sun for the day.
Seriously?
I’m sure that was what she was worried about—Natty being overheated or burning or whatever.

But according to Natty, it wasn’t an order or anything. It was more like a vigorously reinforced recommendation. A recommendation that came with a new blond shadow. Natty thought she could have objected, but rather than try to dodge her new stalker for the rest of the day, she’d just given in.

The girl had escorted Natty the entire way back to Paradise . . . you know, to ensure Natty didn’t “get lost” along the way.

But at least we knew where we stood now. We weren’t prisoners, but we weren’t
not
prisoners either.

Clear as mud.

Natty tried to find the blond girl again so she could point her out to me—on our way to the cafeteria, while we ate, and during our walk back—but whoever she was, she was clearly off-duty.

Too bad. I wanted to know who our non-guards were.

Tyler was waiting at our tent when we got back, and the anxious look he gave me, along with the way he rubbed his hands over the sides of his khakis, made it clear he wasn’t the spy assigned to keep an eye on us.

“Hey,” he offered, his deep dimple gouging a path through his cheek.

Suddenly I felt like I needed to wipe my palms, too, as I bit my bottom lip and grinned back at him. It was silly, knowing all this about who we’d been and having to start from scratch. Silly and awesome all at the same time, because maybe it wasn’t so bad, having all these firsts all over again.

“Hey,” Natty said, and Tyler blinked, all surprised-like, as if she’d just . . .
poof!
. . . materialized from out of nowhere.

But Natty didn’t wait for a hint, she did this roll-her-eyes-and-shake-her-head-sighing thing that made it clear she knew she wasn’t invited to this little party. “I’ll just . . .” She pointed to our tent. “I’ll be in here. See you later.” She slipped inside and left the two of us alone outside.

Tyler’s grin grew as he rocked back on his heels. “She seems nice,” he said, and I wondered when he’d possibly come to that conclusion. During the two seconds he’d glimpsed her waiting for me inside our tent when he’d first dropped me off, after we’d first been reunited? Or just now, during their awkward, barely-two-seconds-longer run-in?

Still grinning, he shoved his hands in his pockets and lifted his shoulders. I swear, his smile could literally melt the sun, which was the lamest compliment ever, but was so totally true it didn’t even matter. He was that hot. “I . . .”
He nodded his head in the direction we’d just come from. “I was supposed to . . .” What I initially thought was nervous, and somewhat cute, stammering was getting uncomfortable.

I frowned. “What? You were supposed to what?”

“Griffin,” he finally blurted out. “She wanted me to come get you.”

If I could have buried my head, like an ostrich, I would have. I was part embarrassed that I thought he’d been looking all awkward because of me, which I still sort of hoped was the case, and part mad because Griffin was the real reason he was here.

“Griffin?” I parroted numbly.

He nodded, stuffing his hands deeper into his pockets. “Yeah. She’s waiting for us.
For you
.”

Not exactly the way I imagined my evening unfolding after finding Tyler on my front step, but . . .

I tried not to sound too disappointed when I exhaled. “Fine. Lead the way.”

Tyler bumped my shoulder as he fell into step beside me, seemingly relieved that I understood. I kept telling myself this was what I’d been waiting for—to spend time, even just a few seconds at a time, with him . . . regardless of the reason.

He took me to Griffin, who was waiting for us in a place where there were none of the giant spotlights and it was dark all around. Simon was there too, as was Nyla.

“What’s going on?” I asked Simon.

But it was Griffin who answered. “I have a job for you. All of you.”

I looked to Simon, and then Tyler, before asking, “Job? What kind of job? And why us?”

“Not Tyler,” Griffin answered. “He stays here. With me. But I need the three of you to go on a recruiting mission.”

“Seriously? You want us to
recruit
for you?” I shot Simon a skeptical look, then shrugged at Griffin. “Why would we do that? You’ve held us hostage for days and now you want us to
run errands
for you?”

Then she exhaled. “I’m giving you a chance to prove you can be useful. Earn yourself some freedoms around camp.” When I started to argue, to tell her I didn’t need to prove anything, she just lifted her hand to stop me. “I’ve already explained this to Simon and Nyla, but we believe the No-Suchers know about this kid too. I don’t want to send one of my teams, but I will if I have to. The last thing we want is for the Daylight Division to get to this kid before we do. You have no idea what they do to those like us.”

But she was wrong; I knew exactly what they’d do. And the very mention of the No-Suchers, and their Daylight Division, made my blood run cold. The thought of saving this kid from their clutches made me feel like some sort of hero.

And if I could get Griffin to loosen the leash she had me on in the process, then all the better.

“You don’t have to do it,” Tyler said, easing up alongside me as he gripped my arm. “She’s right, there are other
teams who can do this. It’s dangerous.” His breath tickled my cheek, and even though it was dark, I had no trouble seeing the earnestness in his green eyes as they searched mine.

Griffin cleared her throat. “But I’d be grateful if you did. And I’d go out of my way to make things easier on you here at camp if you did.”

“Natty too?” I asked, thinking of the way she’d been followed just hours earlier.

Griffin held my gaze. After several long seconds, she nodded. “All of you.”

I looked to Simon, and then to Nyla. “What do you think?”

“I think I’d rather have you stay here, at camp.” Simon answered me but glared at Griffin. “But it’s been made clear that’s not an option. From what we’ve heard, we have a big enough head start that I think we can get there and back by dawn, no problem.” I wondered what I’d missed, and whether Tyler knew what had transpired between Griffin and Simon before we got here.

I chewed the inside of my lip, turning to Griffin once more. “And we’ll have more freedom?” I just wanted her confirmation one more time. When she nodded, I took a deep breath. “Fine, then. I’m in too.”

“How much farther?” I had to yell to be heard from the backseat. The bandanna Nyla had given me to tie my hair back barely contained it, and the wind whipped stray pieces
around my cheeks as we flew along the road in the open-air Jeep.

With her smooth head, Nyla didn’t have to worry about pesky hair flying around, stinging her face. She hollered over her shoulder while she drove, “Little town called Delta, about two hours from here.”

I checked my watch; that would put us there sometime around 2:30 in the morning, plenty of time to get back to camp before sunup, just as Simon had predicted.

“What makes Griffin think this kid we’re going after is one of us? How exactly does she get her intel?” I was fascinated by the process. By the way they did things in this Returned world I lived in now.

I assumed there was some kind of shared superhighway of information, like all those crazy files my dad had kept on everyone who’d disappeared, including where they’d lived, where they’d last been seen, their favorite music, and if they’d ever returned at all.

Pretty much everything there was to know about them.

I sat forward to hear better, but also hoping the seat might block some of the wind assaulting me.

Simon faced me from the passenger seat. “Depends. This time she got a call from an inside source saying they had the boy in town,” he called back to me, “under medical observation. I guess when they found him, he told the sheriff the last thing he remembered was being with a friend back home . . . which apparently was
nowhere near
Utah.”

My palms got sweaty and I rubbed them on my jeans. I
remembered that not-knowing sensation, of being one place and then waking up in another. It was . . . disturbing, to say the least.

Like a really,
really
bad case of déjà vu.

“So, where was he from, then?”

I watched the scenery zip past. The only lights out here were from our headlights and the stars overhead. It might have been beautiful, if only I hadn’t known that we were on our way to change someone’s life forever.

Simon interrupted my thoughts when he handed me a piece of paper.

Unfolding it, I assumed Griffin’s “inside source” had gotten her this police report as well. It listed all the pertinent details about the boy and his disappearance:

Alex Walker, fifteen years old. From Florida.

According to this, his grandmother had reported him missing from their home in Tallahassee just two days earlier. Since he had a history of running away, she’d told local police he’d probably run off again.

Yet late this evening, Alex Walker had walked into a truck stop near the edge of Delta, Utah, and asked the waitress, and I quote: “What circle of hell is this place supposed to be?” When questioned further, he claimed to have absolutely zero memory of how he’d gotten all the way from Tallahassee to Delta, or where he’d been for the past forty-eight hours.

Forty-eight hours . . . the exact amount of time most Returned were missing.

The report said he was being held for observation at the Delta Medical Clinic, and his grandmother had been contacted.

He was at the hospital
.

My stomach knotted painfully.

I’d been taken to the hospital, too, back when I’d first been returned, and it hadn’t ended so well for the lab tech who’d drawn my blood. My body had tried to heal around the needle, and because I hadn’t known better, he’d been exposed to what I realized now was my poisonous blood.

I seriously hoped history didn’t repeat itself in this case.

“Griffin mentioned that the Daylighters already know about him. How can she be so sure? Did her inside source tell her that too?”

Simon looked to Nyla for the answer.

“Griffin said the message came from a camp in Texas, who heard it from another one in southern New Mexico,” she called back to me. “That’s the way it works—we get these bulletins that bounce from camp to camp. It’s not a bad system, and most of the time the information’s pretty accurate.”

I wanted to be cool, and make it seem like my stomach hadn’t just clenched painfully, but I had to ask, “Most of the time? And what if they’re wrong this time? About our head start?”

“Kyra . . .” The way Simon said it was supposed to mean I shouldn’t worry, but I couldn’t help it. I worried plenty.

Nyla didn’t seem half as concerned. She leaned back and
shouted, “Relax! If Griffin really thought there’d be trouble, she wouldn’t have risked sending a team at all.”

Or,
I thought as my stomach clenched tighter and tighter, until it was just a shriveled little knot,
she’d send a crew she considered expendable
.

My eyes wandered to my watch to count down the minutes. But for once, time couldn’t ease the crush of anxiety that built inside me, reaching a crescendo as each second passed, growing leaden and filling all my insides. I had to tug at my shirt so the air could reach down in front.

Damn, I couldn’t remember the last time I’d sweated so much
.

Eighty-six minutes . . .

Sixty-three . . .

Forty-four . . .

When we finally saw Delta, the city’s lights were like distant stars. Something about knowing we were so close to reaching our destination made me restless, and even though I’d considered the unrelenting wind that battered me cold just a few miles back, I leaned into it now to dry the perspiration that prickled my skin.

I was nervous. What if we were too late, and the Daylighters had beaten us and had already whisked the kid back to the Tacoma facility?

What if this was another trap?

We passed a sign that read: You Are Now Entering Delta, Utah. Population 3,457.

I never once saw Nyla consult a map or a GPS, or ask directions. She didn’t say if she’d been here before, but if she
hadn’t, then she was just one of those people who had an innate sense of direction. Their own built-in compass.

I was super jealous of people like that. I’d always been fast on the mound, and now I could add super strong to my list of talents, but even as a kid I’d always been directionally challenged. To the point that Pin-the-Tail-on-the-Donkey had been less like a game and more like a hand-eye coordination test.

One I almost never passed.

When we got there, the Emergency entrance was brightly illuminated against the dark backdrop of the rest of what I assumed was supposed to pass for a hospital. Even if it hadn’t been dark, the place we pulled up in front of was really more clinic-sized than hospital-sized, but Delta was a small town, so clearly they made do with what they had.

Out front of the blazing ER doors there were two parked cars, which would have made my heart race and set my suspicions into overdrive, except that one was a beat-up station wagon, circa 1960-something. And the other was a bright yellow convertible Volkswagen Beetle.