Seventeen
The room was dark and still except for the soft rhythmic sound of Mom’s breathing when I bolted upright into alertness. The bedsprings squeaked loudly in the quiet room. I glanced at the digital clock bolted to the nightstand. Three twenty-five a.m.
A strange scuffling noise had roused me from sleep, or my resting state, or whatever the hell I did when I lay in bed. Not a topic to investigate now, not when I heard the sound again, like a shoe scraping concrete.
Someone was outside.
I slid to the floor and leaned over Mom’s sleeping form, jumping back when her eyes flew open and she sat up abruptly.
It shouldn’t have surprised me. Nothing Mom did should surprise me anymore.
“Is someone here?” she mouthed. I nodded and jerked my head toward the door.
Mom slid out of bed, fully clothed, like me. She snagged her glasses off the nightstand and fixed her gaze on the door.
A knock. “Maintenance,” a gruff male voice called.
I took a step forward, but Mom’s outstretched arm held me back. “Wait here,” she whispered. She crept toward the door and looked out the peephole. “What do you need?”
“Sorry for the inconvenience, ma’am, but there’s been some complaints of power outages in some of the rooms and the front office. Unfortunately, the fuse box is in there. We just need to come in to check it out.” His voice was just loud enough to be heard through the door.
Fuse box? In our room? Mom’s gaze sought mine in the dark, and I could tell we shared the same thought.
Not very probable.
“Just a minute while I put on some clothes.”
She hurried back over, pushing her mouth close to my ear. “Run a scan. Find the precise location of any nearby electrical circuits.”
“But I don’t know how—”
Her fingers dug into my shoulders. “You do know how. You just don’t know you do—just like the GPS. Focus, and turn a slow circle. The current is detected through a sensor behind your eyes.”
My hands flew to the sides of my face. Like maybe I could somehow feel the sensor there.
“Hurry, Mila,” she whispered. “We need to know if there’s anything near this room.”
It was the “hurry” that did it. Though my stomach churned and my fists balled, I turned a slow circle and issued the mental command.
Circuits.
As if by magic, a digital green map blossomed in front of me. It fizzled into tiny dots of static an instant later.
Circuits scan: Blocked.
An icy-cold sensation trickled down my back. “It’s blocked.”
Mom blanched. “If they knew to bring an interference device, it must be Holland’s men. They’ve found us.”
They’d found us, and we were trapped.
Mom burst into motion. She swept into the bathroom and turned on the light. The sound of the shower beating against the wall followed. She closed the door before hurrying back. “We only have one chance at this. We need to get them inside, close the door, and subdue them before anyone else notices. You ready?”
Something metal scraped against the deadbolt while I stood frozen.
Mom must have sensed my fear, because she squeezed my shoulders and whispered, “A team, remember? I can’t do this without you.”
The chill spread from my back to the rest of my body. She wanted me to help take these guys down, like I had back at the ranch. She wanted me to be an android, when right now all I wanted was for her to protect me, like I was an actual daughter and she was an actual mom.
But I was the one who’d asked for it. I was the one who’d said “team.” I couldn’t back out now.
I scanned the room, searching for a potential weapon. My gaze returned to the dresser. I hesitated over the scissors before shoving them in my pocket, the man back in Clearwater still too fresh in my mind. Team or no team, android or human, I wouldn’t let anyone turn me into a killer. Instead, I grabbed the hair dryer and the heavy round hairbrush.
“Ready.”
I vaulted the bed and dropped to all fours behind the fabric chair near the window, from where I’d have a direct line to the door. Up close, the chair smelled like spoiled milk, and dust erupted when I brushed it with my forehead.
As Mom clicked the deadbolt, every bit of my focus switched to her. We’d only have one shot. If they held a gun to Mom’s head before I could get to them, it was all over. I couldn’t risk her getting hurt.
Mom opened the door, feigning a yawn. “Are you sure you can’t wait until morning?”
A sturdy dark-haired man I didn’t recognize shoved his way into the room, followed by a shorter man with a navy-blue hat. He ducked his head, but I could still see the swollen nose and purpling eye. He was one of the men I’d taken down in the Greenwood Ranch driveway.
Mom stepped back, continuing with the charade. “Okay . . . but if the fuses are in the bathroom, you’ll have to wait a few minutes. My daughter was in the shower when you knocked.”
Both men’s gazes swept the empty beds before focusing on the bathroom door. My hands clenched on the hair dryer and brush. Wait. Wait. Too soon could bring unwanted attention. Too late could bring much, much worse.
And then the second man walked all the way into the room, carrying a silver toolbox. As the door clattered shut, everything happened at once. Mom’s foot whipped out, slamming into the back of the second man’s knees. The dark-haired man reached into the toolbox, pulling out a black gun.
And I leaped up from behind the chair, took aim, and threw.
The hairbrush cracked the dark-haired man in the wrist, making his gun clunk to the floor. Mom kicked it toward the bathroom before turning back to the man from Clearwater, who’d pitched forward onto his hands and knees. His hat catapulted off his head.
The dark-haired man recovered more quickly than I’d anticipated. He dived for the floor, for the gun. He was going to reach it before me.
Incapacitate gun hand.
The command drove me into action. I launched myself after him while, right before my eyes, his arm turned into a 3-D graph of internal anatomy. Pulsing green lights accentuated the most vulnerable points.
Accessible targets.
Midair, I yanked the plug away from the hair dryer. He’d already grabbed the gun with his right hand and was rolling onto his side, sweeping the weapon in an arc that would reach Mom.
Now.
I landed beside him, hip first, taking aim as I slid across the carpet. Then I shoved the plug into the mass of nerves in his armpit, the brachial plexus.
Target: Immobilized.
The unreality of the situation flashed through me as the metal prongs sank deep into his flesh, but I had to stay focused. Until I was sure I had him subdued.
His entire arm went slack and his scream pierced the room before I stifled it by clamping my hand over his mouth. A quick jab to the trachea would silence him, but I didn’t want to hit him again, not unless absolutely necessary.
Suitcase. On the dresser.
Keeping my left hand over his mouth, I used my right to rummage through the unzipped bag. I grabbed the first wad of soft cotton my fingers touched. A few seconds later, the man was sporting one of Mom’s favorite gray tank tops in a way the manufacturer had never intended. Now I just needed something to secure his hands.
And then I paused. I’d just stabbed some guy, an utter and complete stranger, in the armpit with a hair-dryer plug.
And I’d done it well.
Unreal. “You okay?” I asked, glancing Mom’s way. The other man was stomach down on the floor and unmoving, and from the slackened look of his jaw, out cold. Still, Mom had one knee lodged against his spine, just in case.
“Got anything to tie him up with?”
Her free hand reached into her pocket and pulled out a handful of multicolored zip ties. I caught the two she tossed at me. “Use these.” Her voice sounded as capable and calm as ever, even with a large red spot on her left cheek. Obviously her captive had gotten in a punch before she’d taken him down.
I went to grab my guy to flip him onto his stomach but hesitated with my hand on his shoulder. His eyes were glazed with pain, and his good hand wrapped protectively around his injured arm. A sharp pang hit me.
I’d known right where to strike and had done so without conscious thought. Without even bothering to consider if I’d do any permanent damage.
. . . a fighting machine.
“Mila, it’s okay,” Mom said, summing up my predicament with one quick glance. “I know how you’re feeling, but remember—he would have had no problem shooting me. And what he has planned for you . . . it’s much worse than what you did to him.”
Maybe so, but I didn’t want to be this Mila, the one they’d created in the lab, who maimed and hurt and one day, possibly, even killed people.
But for now, I had to forget all that and tie this man up.
I moved efficiently. When I rolled the man onto his stomach, he groaned but didn’t protest or open his eyes. He was barely conscious. Hopefully that meant this would hurt less. Still, I kept my hands gentle when I bound his wrists with the pink zip tie. The green one I used on his ankles.
Mom’s guy was similarly bound, with a pair of socks stuffed into his mouth. She rose, taking two steps over to the bed before sinking onto the edge. The only indication of nerves was the way she fiddled with the nosepiece of her glasses.
“Now what?” I asked, looking at the two prone men, the tightness building in my chest. I tried to will it away by reminding myself it wasn’t real, that according to Mom, the tightness was merely a re-creation of someone else’s emotional reactions. Like an emotional residue.
Mom eyed the two men, who were just starting to stir. “Get our stuff out of the bathroom and wipe the room down for prints. By the time you’re done, they should be able to answer a few questions.”
I grabbed our suitcase, carried it into the bathroom. I shoved everything off the counter into the bag, then did a sweep of the rest of the room. In the trash can I spotted our empty boxes of hair color, and I fished them out to throw away in a more secure location.
Fingerprints. I yanked down a towel, dampened it under the faucet, and wiped everything we might have touched clean.
When I walked out, the two men were still on the ground, but the one closest to Mom had started struggling against his restraints.
Mom glanced up at me, her lips thin and determined. “Ready?”
Before I could answer, she dropped next to the man and rolled him over, onto his bound hands. Then she pressed the gun against his temple.
“We already know you’re working for General Holland. Tell us how much he knows.”
He didn’t attempt to make a sound against his impromptu gag, and even though Mom held the gun, his glaring eyes stayed glued to me. I saw her hand tremble slightly before she whipped the gun down and cracked it against his knee.
The socks stuffed into his mouth absorbed his scream.
I staggered back a step. “You said question them, not beat them,” I said, my eyes accusing.
Mom dragged a weary hand down her cheek. “It’s the only way to get them to talk. You can wait in the bathroom, if you want. I can handle this.”
I almost did it—fled to the bathroom, turned on the shower and sink full blast to block out any noises. But that wouldn’t be fair to Mom.
Like it or not, we were a team. And our survival depended on us acting like it.
“Now tell me what you know,” Mom said to the balding man, yanking the socks from his mouth.
He hacked, turned his head, and spit on the floor. “Holland? We don’t work for Holland.” His focus returned to me and his mouth slackened. I could almost feel the path his eyes took as they crawled over every inch of my body.
Mom’s fingers tightened on the gun. “Quit lying. And look at me, not her.”
At her command, the prisoner shifted his attention to Mom, but a few seconds later, his eyes were back on me.
“Do I look like a military wannabe to you? All we want to do is get a good look,” he said, nodding at me. “Hand her over and we’ll pay you, enough that you can disappear anywhere.”
He raked me over from head to toe again and whistled softly. “Damn, now I can see why they’re so gung ho to grab you. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were the real thing, and not just the military’s latest toy.”
Toy. He’d just called me a toy. I clenched my teeth against the burst of pain, against the traitorous thought that his assessment wasn’t that far off. Mom’s breath hissed between her own teeth, before she grabbed him by the chin. “Quit wasting my time. Now tell me—have you reported back to SMART Ops yet? Does Holland know you found us?”
His lip curled into a sneer. “I’m telling you the truth. It’s not my problem if you’re too stupid to believe me.”
Mom moved the gun to point at his thigh. “Maybe I won’t shoot you in the head. But the leg . . .” A click signaled the gun was cocked.
The sound sent nausea barreling up my throat. I didn’t think Mom would really shoot a helpless man, but even the possibility made me sick. All I could picture was the other girl, the drill, the gun at her head. . . .
Somehow I had to convince him to talk without Mom shooting him. Even if I had to bluff my way through it.
I flung my body down to the floor on his other side and grabbed him by the hair. “Forget the gun—I have access to hundreds of ways to torture the information out of you. Ask your friend over there. He’s going to be fine, but I can’t really say the same for his arm.”
The smile fell from his face. His dark eyes flickered to his moaning companion while, under my fingertips, I felt his pulse throb through his scalp.
I fought off my urge to let him go and forced my other hand to cup his cheek. If my threats terrified him into talking without the use of violence, then it was worth it.
“I could start with something simple, like jamming my finger into your ear—hard enough to make your eardrum burst. I’d just have to be careful not to poke my way into your brain. Oh, and . . . I’ll know if you’re lying.”
I honestly had no idea if I’d know or not, but it sounded good.
His dark eyes stared into my green ones, and his Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. Hard. My fingers dampened from the sweat leaking from his scalp. Then he started talking.
“It’s just us so far, the group from your house. The others are scouring all routes heading out of Clearwater. We got a late start, but we caught up to the signal on your car—we’d bugged you.”
“Bugged us? Then there are more of you coming?” Mom broke in, a hint of the panic she’d been so carefully repressing evident in the rising pitch of her voice.
“No, not yet. They weren’t sure if it was a decoy, if you’d found the bug and planted it on someone else.”
“Have you reported back yet?” A hesitation, so I forced my hand to graze his ear, as a reminder, while Mom jumped to her feet.
He flinched. “No, we haven’t reported back. We were supposed to once we confirmed your identity one way or the other.”
Mom rushed around the room, wiping for traces of fingerprints and shoving any remaining items into our suitcase. Then she walked back into the bathroom, emerging with two washcloths. A moment later, both men were effectively gagged and her tank top and socks rescued, albeit a little damper than she prefered.
“When your friends find you, pass this along. The next one who comes after us will sample those torture techniques Mila was talking about. Understand?”
His eyes widened and he gave a jerky nod.
“Good.” Mom knelt to dig through the gunman’s pockets and withdrew a black walkie-talkie-looking device. I watched her frown at it as I followed suit. No identification, but I did find a key ring to a rental car.
“What’s wrong?” I asked as she stood, the crease deepening over her nose.
“This is what they used to jam your reception, but I don’t recognize it. Holland never showed us anything like this before.” She stared at the device like it was toxic before punching two buttons. The green light blinked off. Afterward, the way she slowly raised her head made me suspect the worst. “I think they were telling the truth—they’re not working for the military.”
We rushed to the door and slipped into the chilly night with those words repeating in my ears. As if things weren’t bad enough, now we had two groups hunting us down.
Outside, nothing stirred. Not a noise except the never-ending trek of cars racing by on the highway. A quick perusal of the parking lot revealed that in addition to the three cars I’d noticed when we’d first pulled in, a fourth one was parked on the north side of the lot—a black Ford Explorer with tinted windows.
Red shimmered behind my eyes. “No,” I hissed, clenching my jaw and willing it out of my head. No scans. We’d manage just fine without any unwanted help from my robotic voice.
Visual scan: Activated.
Human threat detected.
I stopped fighting and froze. “Someone’s here.”
Mom stopped. “Where?”
“There.” I pointed. Off to our left, on the sidewalk in front of the motel, my visual field highlighted the figure in green light. I focused on his face and groaned. The stupid security guard, from the convenience store. He was heading our way. “What do we do now?”
“Act like you’re searching for something in the back of the car.”
Mom hit the remote to unlock the doors, so I shoved the suitcase inside, then leaned halfway in and pretended to rifle through the driver’s seat-back pocket.
Mom scooted around to the passenger side and rummaged near the floorboard.
Meanwhile I held my breath, listening as the guard’s whistling alerted us to his approach. He was getting closer. And closer.
I didn’t dare look up from the tan leather, but I could hear his boots crunch loose gravel, hear their path lead him straight to Mom. “Everything okay? Motel owner’s a friend of mine, and he asked me to check out some noise disturbances.”
Noise disturbances—that had to be us. I gripped the leather pocket hard while Mom straightened.
When she spoke, she sounded pissed. “Why do you think we’re leaving in the middle of the night? It’s impossible to sleep with those morons in thirty-five making all that racket. They finally shut up about fifteen minutes ago, but since we were awake and have a long trip ahead of us, we decided to get an early start.”
Thirty-five. The room two doors down.
“Racket? What kind of racket? Did it sound like anyone was injured?” Through the window, I watched him search out the room in question. Crap. If he went to question them, we’d be in serious trouble.
Mom must have realized that at the same time, because she scoffed. “Oh, not that kind of racket. You know. The other kind,” she said, with an eyebrow lift and a hush-hush head jerk in my direction.
Even though the couple and their boisterous nighttime activities were imaginary, my cheeks burned. Especially considering how the guard had hit on me not too long ago. Which gave me a great, yet mortifying, idea of how to scare him away.
I straightened, hoping my flaming cheeks weren’t super noticeable in the dim light.
“Hi there!” I waved over the top of the car. It took a few seconds for him to make the connection, but when he did, it was almost comical.
He gasped, then backed away from the Tahoe like it might shock him, tripping over his own feet. “Hello,” he said in a gruff voice that sounded obviously fake, his hand flying up to tug at his collar. He couldn’t turn back to Mom fast enough. “Thanks for clearing that up. I’ll go let the owner know. Have a good evening.”
Then he ducked his head and darted for the office, careful to keep his eyes focused straight ahead.
I would have laughed, but Mom cut me off. “We need to disable their car before he gets back,” she said, watching his retreat.
“I’ll take care of it while you look for the tracking device.” I darted silently for the Explorer. No one inside, good.
My fingers dug into my pocket, found the scissors I’d stashed there in hopes of not accidentally hurting anyone too much. After peering over my shoulder to ensure the guard was still safely inside the office, I started with the driver’s side. I aimed at the tire and used a quick, forceful jab to puncture the rubber. The scissors sliced through the outer layers more easily than I anticipated, the tire sheathing them so far, my hand touched rubber.
The act reminded me of a similar one I’d performed just minutes ago, only that time I’d sunk metal into human flesh. I forced the thought out of my mind and continued to the next tire.
In under two minutes, all four tires were sporting brand-new scissor-sized holes. Even if our hunters somehow managed to free themselves, they wouldn’t get far.
I jogged over to where our SUV was parked. Time to get on the road, the quicker the better. Though that task proved more challenging than anticipated when I found Mom halfway underneath the vehicle. Only her long legs stuck out.
“Didn’t find it yet?”
From around the corner came the creak of the office door. The guard. “Hurry up!”
“Just a second.” The soft glow that followed her as she scooted around to the back driver’s wheel told me she’d grabbed our emergency flashlight. The guard stood with his back to us and the door partially open, but the moment he turned around, he’d see the light too, and wonder what the hell we were doing. She slid back out, greasy fingered but triumphant. “Here it is,” she said, holding aloft a blinking red piece of metal, encased in what appeared to be some type of clear siliconelike substance.
The second Mom pushed to her feet, the door clanged shut. After a cursory glance our way and a lackluster wave, the guard hurried toward the street.
I sighed in relief while Mom launched into an excited whisper. “This isn’t a regular military tracking device. You’re programmed to sense the signals they emit. But the synthetic this thing is encased in must have somehow blocked your ability while still allowing the signal to go out. Ingenious, really.” She gingerly turned the device over in her hands, like it was precious.
Ever the scientist, even now, under dangerous circumstances. I threw open the passenger door. “Great, Mom, but can you get excited about the device that nearly killed us after we’re in the car?”
A sheepish smile erupted across her formerly fascinated face. “Right—sorry!”
Her smile broadened as she climbed into the driver’s seat and gunned the engine. “Why do you do that?” I said while we reversed out of our parking spot.
“Do what?”
“Smile whenever I say something particularly obnoxious.” This wasn’t the first time it had happened, but it definitely ranked up there as the oddest.
She braked hard as the light in front of us turned yellow. “Because it’s proof that you’re more human than you—than anyone—thinks.”
“Is that supposed to make sense?”
She beamed at me, lifting her hand to smooth back my hair. “Oh, it’s perfectly logical. Think, Mila. The government didn’t really program you to have a subversive sense of humor. Neither did I, not even when I implanted the memories and uploaded the teen-speak programs. That’s all you. It means you’re growing, evolving . . . just like a human would.”
I considered her words, and as I did, a feeling of warmth—hope—blossomed inside me. In the grand scheme of things, yes, this was all relatively minor. It didn’t change the fact that I was full of engineered parts to mimic being a human so I could blend in as a spy. But it was something. A spark of promise for what might be, for how I could change.
For how I could change, if we lived long enough for that change to occur, and if somehow, some way, I could find the path back to Hunter.
And then we were back on the highway, back on the run to a whole new life.
