Nineteen
We didn’t get very far before Mom stopped outside a newsstand.
“We have a long flight ahead of us, so I’m going to grab a few books. Do you want anything?” she asked as she bent over to tie her blue shoelace.
I looked inside the newsstand-slash-bookstore while other passengers veered around us to continue down the hallway. Despite its cramped size, every available surface was covered with magazines and books. A tall, twenty-something girl thumbed through an InStyle next to her parked suitcase, while her boyfriend draped his arms casually around her neck and peered over her shoulder.
There was something I wanted. But I couldn’t buy it in that store.
“Sure, grab me something. I have this inexplicable craving for an espionage story.” Mom frowned and I held up my hands. “Okay, okay, just joking. Remember, joking is good?”
That produced a slight smile.
“I’ll take anything. Oh, and maybe some teen magazines,” I said, eyeing the woman as she toted her InStyle to the cashier. “You know, just to blend.”
Mom snorted delicately, reaching out to rumple my hair. “Right. Just to blend.”
“I’ll wait right here,” I said.
As soon as I saw her head bent over a paperback she’d picked up—The Help—I ducked down and dug the disposable cell phone out of my bag. Mom had ditched our old cells before we’d left Clearwater, worrying that SMART Ops or the men from the motel could use them to track us. Even so, I knew she wouldn’t want me calling anyone, and logically I realized that was the safest course of action.
If I wanted to hear Hunter even one more time, it had to be now. Before we arrived at our real destination.
With fingers that felt like they should be shaking but were surprisingly steady, I punched in his number. He answered on the second ring.
“Hello?”
His voice unleashed a river of warmth. I reached out to grab the wall for support. “It’s Mila.”
“Mila?” A shocked pause. And then, “Are you okay? I’ve been trying to call you! I even stopped by this morning—”
“I’m fine.” I cut him off, even though I could bathe in the concern spilling from the phone forever. The mere sound of his voice soothed me, made everything feel a little less surreal.
“I’m glad. After last night ended kind of weird, I worried. I even went by the Dairy Queen to see if you were there.”
The sudden rush of pleasure I felt over the fact that he’d obviously been trying hard to find me waned just as quickly as it flared. Dairy Queen. Studying with Kaylee and eating Blizzards. Kaylee might not have turned out to be a true friend, but those memories were real. For those brief few weeks, everything had been much simpler.
“So what are you doing now?” I asked, determined not to wallow. Hunter was the only person in the entire world who made me feel normal. No squandering these final moments with him on self-pity.
“Nothing much. When can I see you again? I missed you today.”
I missed you.
I let my head fall back against the wall and stared blankly as other travelers rushed by. So many of them were on their way to visit family or loved ones . . . or returning home to be reunited again.
The emptiness inside me opened up, threatening to hollow me out until there was nothing left. At that precise moment, I hated the scientists—even Mom—for subjecting me to this. For making me feel.
I shouldn’t have called him. This was only making things worse. “Listen, I’m just calling to say . . . good-bye. Mom and I, we have to leave.”
“Wait—you’re leaving Clearwater? You mean, moving?”
“Yes.”
“Wow,” he said, drawing the word out. Probably trying to make sense of what had to sound like insanity. “Somewhere close?”
“No, not close. We’re leaving the country.”
Stunned silence ticked away the next few seconds. “That’s . . . sudden. Is everything okay?”
I almost laughed. No, everything was not okay, not by a long shot. Of course, any discussion about our current predicament would involve me informing Hunter of my true origins.
Oh, by the way, I’m not exactly human. You know that night you took me on a date? You almost kissed an android.
“Mila?”
I shoved away from the wall to check up on Mom’s progress. She was now in line to pay behind just one other person, clutching two books and several magazines in her hands. Not much time left. “I’m really going to miss you.” I dug my fingers into the phone when I realized how inadequate that sounded. There was more, so much more . . . but how did you tell someone he, and he alone, made you feel human? I tried again before he could interrupt. “Thank you . . . for everything,” I said, my voice faltering. “You have no idea how much I owe you.”
I pressed my palms to my eyes. Just to alleviate the pressure for an instant. The customer in front of Mom slipped away, and Mom handed the cashier her books. “I’ve got to go.”
“Wait! At least—promise you’ll call when you get to wherever you’re going.”
The cashier handed Mom her change. Out of time. What harm could it do to lie, to agree? “Deal. See ya.”
I ended the call and slipped the phone out of sight just as Mom turned my way, plastic bag in hand.
“Ready?” she asked.
I pretended to fumble with my bag so she couldn’t see my face. “Ready,” I mumbled. Willing myself not to cry.
Another person gone from my life. Only one left now.
“So I got you InStyle, Seventeen, and People. Oh, and I looked at some books, but I had such a hard time choosing. I wasn’t sure which would be better—one of those fantasy novels everyone’s always talking about, or something more down-to-earth. So I got you a couple.”
Throughout the small talk, Mom’s attention remained focused on the security official ahead, who waited to wave us through to the widened area that housed scanners. A ruse, I determined. The chatter was a ruse to make us look like a normal Mom-and-daughter duo, when nothing could be further from the truth.
“Okay, thanks.”
“Hopefully the weather will be nice in Germany. Typical temperatures this time of year are lower than ours, but I heard they’re having an unseasonably warm spell right now.”
“Great. I can wear my new minidress. The one that barely covers my butt.”
Her gaze shifted sharply to me, and I shrugged. Question answered: she could study security and listen to me at the same time.
I glanced around, and I knew, I just somehow knew, that my android features would choose this special moment to kick in.
Environmental scan: 22 potential human threats within 20-ft. radius.
Weapons detected: 9 within 20-ft. radius.
That made sense. One security agent was checking IDs before the line broke into the three lines next to conveyor belts, leading to the scans. Three security agents worked the left line—two women, one man—two guards at the middle one, both men, and three more guards on the far right line.
And there were even more guards beyond them, loitering just past the scanners. If something went wrong, well . . . let’s just hope that didn’t happen.
The line inched forward under the bright lights, a few passengers at a time. Mom had assured me that once we were past the ID checker, we’d be fine. Apparently, any metal inside me was untraceable via scanners—the military had made sure of that. Even if I walked through a full body scan, the computer in my brain would falsify the information, resulting in a normal, nonmetal body being displayed on the screen.
As I watched Mom calmly take in the surroundings, I realized this wasn’t new for her, like it was for me. She’d been on guard for a long time now, knowing that she and she alone would be the one to keep us safe. That kind of pressure would have broken a lesser woman, but not her. Not even when the reason she was on the run had been acting like a giant, ungrateful brat.
I could only imagine how lonely this past month had been for her, what a mental and emotional toll this whole ordeal had taken.
While I still wasn’t happy about being lied to, my anger from the past two days faded, leaving behind only a fierce determination that we would get through this, together. I stared at the familiar graceful lines of her profile, and it hit me. I couldn’t think of anyone else I’d rather have on my side.
I should tell her.
“Mom,” I started, but then we were moving forward again. Only two families between us and the security guard now. Then one. Before I realized what I was doing, my hand was on her arm, squeezing.
Then it was our turn.
The bored-looking guard lowered his head to glance at our IDs. His gaze jerked back up to our faces. I tensed. Forced a smile while I reached for Mom’s hand, preparing to run.
Then he shrugged and waved us through.
Mom steered us for the middle line—one less security agent meant they had less time to be attentive—and we took off our shoes and placed them in one of the gray plastic bins. Mom’s purse went on the conveyor belt next.
“Make sure to empty out your pockets, please—no change, keys, even paper. The new scanners will find everything,” the security guard called out from the next line over.
I fumbled through my pockets—empty—while staring at the carefully crafted scanner. With technology changing all the time, how could Mom be sure I’d fool it?
As we shuffled forward, waiting for the burly man in front of us to empty his pockets of change, that scanner consumed my attention. The entire area smelled of a mixture of antiseptic and faint human sweat.
Just as the man stepped through, the alarm blared. I froze.
“Sir, step back through and make sure you completely empty your pockets.”
The man backtracked under the frame, his face flushed. He blocked our path while he dug through his pockets and produced a wadded-up gum wrapper. “Oops, didn’t know this was in there.”
When he walked through the next time, I could see the tension in the way he carried himself so stiffly, like he was convinced he’d set the alarm off again.
It stayed silent this time.
And then it was our turn.
I stepped in front of Mom. That way, if anything happened to me, she might still have a chance to turn around and run.
As I walked up to the rectangle that resembled an empty doorframe, I forced myself to smile and make eye contact with the young, broad-chested security agent waiting on the opposite side.
This was it—a test to see if the military had really pulled it off.
Inhaling a deep breath I didn’t need, I strode through the scanner, trying not to anticipate the sound of a siren and failing miserably.
I burst through to the other side, and . . . nothing. Just amazing, blissful silence.
I squeezed my eyes shut, just for a moment. Mom and I were going to make it. I crossed over to the conveyor belt to grab my shoes, which I slipped back on my feet. The grin I threw over my shoulder at Mom was wide as she passed through the doorway behind me. Home free.
I was jerked back around by an unexpected explosion of noise, harsh and frenzied. Not a siren.
Barking.
The German shepherd lunged to the end of its leash, dragging a male guard behind it while a uniformed woman stepped forward. Its mouth opened, white canines gleaming as it snarled and snapped at my leg. Only my quick reflexes saved me. I leaped back just as the dog’s powerful jaws snapped shut, right where my thigh had been less than a second ago. I stared at the crazed animal in horror.
Why, why was it barking at me? Did it sense something the scanner couldn’t? What if I didn’t smell right? If so, the guards couldn’t know. They had to think there was a logical explanation.
“Please get it away from me,” I said, shrinking. “I don’t want to get bitten.”
The young guard holding the leash yanked the dog back, snapped out a sharp command. The dog ignored him. Those glistening brown eyes refused to leave me, and the second the handler gave it slack, it lunged again, assaulting me with that rapid-fire bark and a dose of musty dog breath.
Drool flew from its black lips, and its teeth snapped as it lunged a second time. All I could think was It knows. Somehow this dog knows I’m not real.
I stumbled back even farther as its claws scratched at the slick floor in a frenzied effort to reach me. Deep barks echoed through the building. And I saw when everything began to change. The stiffening of the female guard’s posture, the minute narrowing of her eyes. The flutter of her fingers toward the walkie-talkie on her hip. The hiss of Mom’s sharp inhalation.
Nine guards within a twenty-foot radius, two of them and a dog right in front of me. Fear pumped through my chest. Maybe I could make it back to the front exit, given the crowd cover and the fact that it was doubtful their weapons could stop me anyway.
Maybe I could make it, but Mom never would.
Her words tumbled through my head. Promise me, Mila.
I’d promised. But it was a promise I’d never intended to keep.
“You’re both going to need to come with me. Leave your bags, but keep your identification and boarding passes with you.”
“Can’t you just scan her here? We’re going to miss our plane.” Mom thrust her hands on her hips and said everything with a hint of a whine. A total act, because Mom never whined. “Dogs never like her . . . they can sense her fear.”
The male guard backed the dog away while the woman shook her head. “Ma’am, this animal is highly trained and we have policy to follow. Now let’s go.” Her voice wasn’t unsympathetic, but she wasn’t going to budge, either.
Mom rested her hand on my shoulder and slanted me a sideways glance. “You ready, Stephanie?”
When she uttered “ready,” she rubbed her nose. It was subtle—I never would have caught it if I hadn’t been expecting it—but her finger pointed briefly past security, toward the narrow passageway that led to the gates. And she mouthed a word.
“Map.”
I smiled, nodded, murmured a low “Okay.” I watched as the woman turned to lead us back the way we’d come, past the security lines and toward the check-in area, while I concentrated: GPS.
I waited as Mom pretended to stumble into her, deftly using her foot to whip the woman’s ankle out from under her, while a green schematic of the airport burst into my visual field.
And then I grabbed Mom’s hand and we were running.
The map self-adjusted as we sprinted down the passageway, showed us closing in on the thin finger housing C gates 27 through 41. We burst into the concourse before security knew what had happened. As we passed a frozen yogurt shop on the right, I yanked two cups out of a startled pedestrian’s hands, throwing them down on the floor behind us, hoping the slickness would slow our pursuers. Security’s shouts followed us past Starbucks and Beaches Boardwalk while we navigated through clumps of travelers, bumping coffee cups and purses along the way. Each and every foot strike pounded more terror through my legs and urged me to run faster. Only a huge force of will made me keep pace with Mom.
Ahead, a group of businessmen looked back over their suited shoulders. They darted out of our path with a screech of suitcase wheels, while the map highlighted a simple truth: the concourse ended soon, which left us only one way out.
The unattended gates.
More footsteps behind us now, more shouts.
“This way,” I yelled, veering right after Gate 29 and pointing at the door to Gate 30.
Through the panel of huge windows, I could see that Gate 30 had a Jetway but no plane.
I sprinted for the door, a pack of security guards behind us and the unknown ahead of us.
We ignored the startled cries of waiting passengers. A blue-skirted airline attendant dashed out from behind the counter and made a grab for my sleeve. “Hey, you can’t—”
I shoved her off and yanked open the door. Her protest followed us as our shoes thudded down the narrow corridor.
We hit the sharp turn to the left running. Ten feet ahead, a big square opened up directly to the outside, giving us a clear view of the tarmac, the wing of the plane the next gate over, and the runway beyond it. Empty space awaited. That, and a huge drop onto hard, hard ground.
I looked over the edge, and the red lights shimmered.
Distance: 9.1 ft.
Impact acceptable.
I could make it—but Mom’s human body might not.
“Go,” Mom panted, pulling up to a stop just before the edge. “It’s not that high, a straight drop, no sheer or sharp objects like with Kaylee’s truck. You’ll be fine.”
In a split second I realized she wasn’t joking. She expected me to jump onto the hard, dirty, uninviting tarmac—and leave her behind.
Mom grabbed my shoulders. Hard. “Go! GO!”
The Jetway vibrated. Out of time—the guards were here. As Mom spun to see the first one’s face pop around the corner, I yanked her toward me, wrapping my arms around her waist and forcing her against my chest.
And then I leaned back into empty space, pulling us both down, down, down.
“No! Stop!” the lead guard yelled, throwing his hand out as if to grab us. But he was too far away.
Air whooshed by as we free fell to the tarmac.
My back hit the ground with a loud smack, followed by my skull. The stun of impact, the pressure of absorbing Mom’s fall—they stilled me for an instant, my vision full of reddish-brown hair and blue sky. An airplane roared in the distance while Mom lay unmoving on top of me.
Was I okay?
Internal scan: No damage.
Relief rushed through me, until I realized:
Mom wasn’t moving.
The growing commotion above us echoed the growing rigidity in my limbs, the tightening grip on my throat. I gently rolled her to her back, got on my knees beside her.
“Are you all right?” I said, searching for some sign of injury while begging, Please be okay, please, please, please.
A second later, her pale blue eyes flew open and immediately narrowed on my face. “You promised me.”
The rigidity vanished and I sprang to my feet. “You can ground me later.” I pulled her to a stand, combating the urge to yank her into a huge hug, just in case she was sore.
While I made sure she could support her own weight, the security guards above crammed closer to the edge of the dropoff.
One grabbed his buddy by the shoulder. “Jesus Christ, did you see that? They’ve got to be high on something. . . .”
Another shouted into a walkie-talkie. “Suspects on tarmac outside C Gate Thirty, Terminal Three. Send units to apprehend.”
We needed to get out of there.
As I urged Mom into motion, my gaze fell on the red-and-blue insignia of the British Airways plane idling at the next gate over . . . and the half-full luggage truck idling beside it.
“Come on!” I grabbed Mom’s forearm and pulled her into a run.
The loud hum of the plane’s engine must have covered all of our commotion from the two busy luggage workers, but our run alerted them. As one of them turned from shoving a bag onto the upward conveyor belt, he saw us. He motioned to his coworker, who turned our way too. They just stood there, watching us run at them with puzzled expressions. Wondering, maybe, if there’d been a luggage screwup of epic proportions.
Somewhere behind us, I heard the shouts of security guards. Ground-level shouts.
Human threat detected.
Mom stumbled a few times as we raced for the truck’s open cab, but I caught her. Kept propelling her forward. When we were ten feet away, the worker pointed at something behind us.
The guards.
A glance over my shoulder confirmed it. On foot, but gaining.
Distance to threat: 42 ft.
“You first,” I shouted at Mom as we finally reached the truck. I boosted her into the cab and jumped into the driver’s seat behind her.
Just then, the worker darted forward. Before I could pull away, he had one foot on the passenger floorboard and one hand on Mom’s arm, trying to force her out.
With my right hand latching onto Mom’s other arm, I floored the gas, then spun the wheel to the left. At the same time, I saw Mom lift her outside foot and shove hard on his chest. The guy stumbled back onto the tarmac.
My elation was short-lived. Midway through our turn, I saw the group of guards on foot, but they still weren’t close enough to catch us.
No, it was what I saw when I pulled around the tail of the British Airways plane that drained the relief from my body. Two security cars. Blocking me from the path I’d planned on taking to get us back to the street, and worse—headed right toward us.
Distance to threat: 35 ft.
Engage?
“No!” I said, gritting my teeth and trying to banish the ridiculous red question from my head. Engage, right. A guarantee that someone would get hurt.
I whipped the wheel to the right, seeking another escape route. Tarmac surrounded us, with its Jetways and luggage trucks and waiting planes, split between the spokes of Terminal 1 and Terminal 3. Beyond it lay long runways and patches of grass.
Shrill sirens cut through the airplane noise, getting closer and closer by the second.
I backtracked toward Terminal 1. Our truck sped across the tarmac, while an Air Canada plane slowly rolled out of the gate to our left. If the plane continued its trajectory at that speed until it hit the runway, would we make it past?
The calculation buzzed in my head, incredibly fast.
Current speed: 45 mph.
Approximate speed of vehicle ahead: 30 mph.
Clearance possible.
I inhaled deeply. We’d never outrun the cars behind us in this poky thing, which meant we’d have to outmaneuver them.
Mom’s hand shot out to clutch my knee with surprising strength. When I glanced at her, her expression was tight, her eyebrows lowered to give her that fierce expression.
She must be feeling better.
“Can you drive?”
Her gaze shifted, to where the plane kept rolling. “Right in front of that plane?” she said.
“That’s the plan.”
“You got it. On the count of three? One—”
Mom’s left hand clutched the steering wheel.
“Two—”
I scooted toward her, to the right, while she rose into a half stand.
“Three!”
I released the wheel and lunged for the passenger side, while Mom vaulted across my lap. The truck jerked left and slowed, until Mom regained control of the wheel and smacked her foot to the gas.
“Keep going!” I yelled, standing up and facing backward. Gripping the seat tightly, I stepped up onto the small ledge.
“Mila! What are you—”
I’d launched myself across the two-foot gap and into the first luggage trailer before Mom could finish her sentence.
“Keep going!” I repeated, staring behind me.
Distance to threat: 20 ft.
They were so close. As I stared into the approaching windshields, fear locked my legs in place. Move, Mila. Now! I scrambled past the remaining suitcases in my trailer, shoving a few of them out until they smacked the pavement. Then I made my way to the end of the trailer and jumped into the second one.
The car on the left veered sharply to avoid a suitcase. The car on the right hit a big one with its inside tire. Brakes squealed as the front tire bounced over the case, then the rear. I grabbed the heaviest suitcase I could find and pushed to the end of the trailer. Readying myself.
From the opposite direction, the plane’s engine rumbled its approach.
“Mila!”
I looked over my shoulder, and my heart seized. Oh, god, the plane was too close. My analysis had malfunctioned. We were going to crash.
And then we were crossing. On my left, the giant nose of a jet barreled right for us, its roaring engine sounding like it could devour us. I bet the pilots never dreamed anyone would be stupid enough to try to cut them off.
Hopefully, we weren’t being stupid.
With all the force I could muster, I turned back to the security cars and swung my arm forward. The suitcase flew.
It smashed the windshield of the lead car. The car wrenched left and braked.
When we’d cleared the plane and the other car was directly in its path, I threw a second suitcase. And a third.
One hit the driver’s side windshield, while the other skidded under the hood. The car jerked, slid to the right.
And ran right into the plane’s front left wheel. A hideous screech filled the air as the plane forced the car forward.
I turned away and hurried back to Mom, leaping both trailer gaps until I was back in the passenger seat.
We’d barely raced past the end of Terminal 2 when more sirens blared, the sound paralyzing me.
Threat detected.
I watched three more cars zoom at us head-on from an extension of Terminal 1.
With a shaky breath and a lead ball in my stomach, I turned my head to the right.
Threat detected.
Two more from that way.
Peered over my shoulder.
Threat detected.
Three more. At this point, I didn’t have the strength to fight off the red words, the voice. It didn’t matter. We’d lost.
Mom glanced toward the runways, but I shook my head. “There’s no way. Not with that many cars. We’d never make it—they’re too fast.”
Besides, there was a new development. Though the windshield of one of the cars behind me, I’d seen glints of metal in the sun. Both guards were holding guns.
“We need to stop the truck and surrender.”
At first I thought Mom would listen. Though her shoulders remained rigid, her jaw tense, she eased her foot off the pedal, letting the truck slow. The cars in front of us slowed, too.
And then she gunned it and yanked hard on the wheel to the left. Toward the runway.
“What are you doing?” I shouted, watching with dizzying dread as the security cars followed.
“You’re going to jump out up here, and I’m going to keep going. Most of them will follow me since I’m heading for the airplanes. You just need to overpower one guard, grab one car.”
“And just leave you behind? No!”
“Mila, please.”
I shook my head. No way.
Mom smacked the wheel as the cars closed in behind us. “Damn it, Mila, you promised.”
The guilt pinched again, but all I could think was how much worse it would be if I abandoned Mom now. “I lied. Please, stop the car, before you get hurt.”
Her foot pushed harder on the gas. “Then you need to promise me something else. If we get taken back to the compound, whatever you do, don’t show your emotions, don’t lose control. Your feelings are a detriment there. Do you understand?”
“Yes! Now please, stop!”
She hit the brakes, and the truck jerked to a halt. She stood and lifted her hands over her head, and I did the same.
Then all we could do was wait while the cars pulled up. While security piled out, guns pointed, yelling at us to slowly exit the truck, keeping our hands up and visible at all times. While they told us to kneel on the tarmac and they gradually approached, guns trained on our heads.
While they cuffed us and loaded us into separate cars, returning us right back to the situation we’d been desperate to escape.
