Unremembered

by Jessica Brody

  Cody, still wide-eyed and open-mouthed, stumbles dazedly away from the car as I reach out and grab hold of the door handle.

  ‘Wait! I almost forgot.’ He digs into his pocket and pulls out a cellphone. ‘Here. You might need this.’ He tosses it into the car. It lands softly on my lap, atop the owner’s manual. ‘I took it from my good friend Trevor back there. I programmed my number in, just in case.’

  I slide the phone into one of my pants pockets. ‘Thanks, Cody,’ I say earnestly. ‘For everything.’

  Then I slam the door, jam the transmission into first gear again, and peel off the grass, leaving a cloud of smoke and a spray of dirt visible in the rear-view mirror.

  32

  IMPEDIMENTS

  ‘Where are we going?’ I ask.

  We’ve been driving for twenty minutes and Zen hasn’t said a word other than to direct me where to turn, when to speed up and pass other cars, and how to read the signs on the side of the highway. Because although the Porsche’s owner’s manual taught me how to operate the car, it didn’t teach me anything about the rules of the road.

  ‘Somewhere we can stay under the radar,’ he replies.

  ‘How do we stay under the radar?’

  Zen points to a sign that reads 55. ‘That’s the speed limit.’

  I check the odometer on the dash – 83 – and gently apply the brakes.

  ‘For one,’ he replies, ‘we don’t get any speeding tickets. Because you don’t have a licence and they’ll be monitoring police reports and radio traffic.’

  ‘Diotech?’ I confirm.

  He nods. ‘But most important, we have to keep you away from the press. And nosy people in general. No photographs can be taken of you. Anything that gets posted on the Web or in any news outlets can be used to track down your location. They’ll be monitoring for that too. So we just have to find a remote place to lay low. I figure if we head inland we can camp out in the desert for a while.’

  ‘Until what?’ I ask.

  ‘Until I can figure out how to get us out of here.’

  I shake my head, downshifting into fifth gear. ‘But if they can find me anywhere, where are we supposed to go? How can we ever escape them?’

  Zen rests his hand on mine on the gearshift. ‘We can,’ he assures me. ‘I just need some time.’

  ‘Time to do what?’

  ‘Sera,’ he begins, his voice turning very solemn and serious, ‘something happened when we tried to escape.’

  ‘You mean the fact that I lost all my memories?’

  He sighs. ‘Yes, that – although I’m still not quite sure how you lost them.’

  I glance at him out of the corner of my eye. ‘What do you mean? Didn’t Diotech steal them?’

  He shakes his head. ‘Not this time. At least I don’t think so. You were perfectly fine that morning, before we escaped. Your memories were fully intact. Or as intact as they could be given the circumstances. I know for a fact Diotech hadn’t messed with your brain for weeks. Which means something must have happened between the time we left and the time I found you in the hospital.’

  ‘I don’t understand,’ I complain. ‘If it wasn’t Diotech, then what could have happened that would erase my memories? And how did I end up floating in the ocean with a bunch of plane wreckage if I was never actually on the plane?’

  ‘That’s the thing,’ Zen says, anxiously rubbing his chin. ‘I don’t know. I’ve been racking my brain trying to figure it out but I can’t. All I know is, something went wrong. You weren’t supposed to be at that crash site. You were supposed to be with me. But somehow you ended up here and I ended up . . . there.’

  I frown. ‘You’re not making much sense.’

  ‘I know. I’m sorry.’ He sighs. ‘I just need to come up with a way to explain it to you.’

  He presses his lips together so hard they’re white when he opens his mouth to speak again. ‘After we figured out what Diotech was doing – what you were involved in – we knew we had to get as far away from there as possible. It was the only way you could have a normal life and we could be together. Because it was clear that they weren’t going to let that happen.’

  I nod. ‘So we tried to flee the compound. You already told me.’

  ‘Yeah. But our escape plan was much more elaborate than that.’

  ‘OK,’ I encourage him.

  He is visibly struggling, kneading his hands. ‘Maybe I should start with the poetry.’

  I shoot him a glance. ‘Poetry?’

  ‘Yes. Sonnet 116. Remember?’

  ‘“Let me not to the marriage of true minds admit impediments . . .”’ I recite softly.

  Zen smiles and I feel him relax somewhat.

  ‘Cody says it’s about eternal love,’ I prompt him.

  ‘It is,’ Zen whispers. ‘It’s about constant, unchanging love. That no one can stand in the way of.’ He stops and peers out the window. ‘They implanted so much in your brain. Languages, math skills, everything they thought someone would need in order to be considered exceptionally intelligent. But they left out a lot of important things.’

  ‘Like poetry?’ I guess.

  He sighs. ‘Yeah. Like poetry. And the ability to comprehend it. I used to bring you poems to read when I would come to see you. We would spend hours deciphering them. At first, it was very hard for you to understand. You took everything so literally. Like a computer. It took you a while to learn how to attach your own emotion to someone else’s words. That’s one of the things I taught you.’

  ‘And Sonnet 116?’

  ‘Sonnet 116 was your favourite.’

  I feel my fingers tighten around the steering wheel. The silence in the car is almost thick enough to touch.

  ‘But it eventually became more than that,’ he explains. ‘It became the inspiration for a very complicated plan.’

  Beep!

  The car makes a strange sound and I jump in my seat. Zen leans over and looks at the dashboard. ‘We’re low on gas. You should probably get off at the next exit.’

  I merge into the right lane and veer on to the next off-ramp. Zen directs me to a gas station. I park in front of the contraption that Zen calls a pump and kill the engine.

  ‘I’ll go inside and pay for the gas and buy some snacks,’ he says. ‘I’m assuming you’re hungry.’

  My stomach rumbles right as he says that and I laugh. ‘I guess so.’

  ‘Wait here,’ he commands. ‘Don’t get out of the car.’

  I watch him disappear into the building and then I lean back in my seat and try to take deep breaths. Everything I’ve learned over the past two days is swimming frantically around my head, trying to find solid ground.

  There’s a knock on the window, startling me, and I turn, expecting to find Zen standing there. But instead I see a stranger. A young woman.

  She’s smiling animatedly and bouncing up and down. ‘You’re that girl!’ I can hear her shrieks even through the glass. ‘The one who survived the plane crash!’

  Then there’s a bright flash and I watch in horror as she lowers her cellphone and begins tapping on it. ‘I have to tweet this!’ She turns and walks away, a slight skip in her step.

  Tweet?

  Zen warned me to stay in the car. But he also warned me not to be photographed by anyone. And that’s exactly what just happened.

  So should I get out of the car and tell him?

  No. I should wait until he comes back.

  Nothing can happen in the few minutes it takes him to pay for some food and gas. Even if Diotech is able to track the girl’s photograph, we’ve been driving for thirty minutes. It would take them just as long to get here. If not longer.

  Right?

  The answer comes almost instantly.

  A trembling sensation tickles the inside of my wrist. I look down at my tattoo. It’s vibrating again. Which can mean only one thing.

  I glance in the rear-view mirror and see two men dressed in black approaching the car. I recognize them as the two men who we
re lying unconscious on the floor of the barn last night.

  And they look more determined than ever.

  ‘Sera!’ I hear Zen’s panicked voice soar across the parking lot. I turn and see he’s stepped out of the gas station, about five hundred feet away. I watch several items drop from his arms and clatter to the ground as his eyes widen in terror. He has only one directive for me now.

  ‘Run!’

  33

  DESERTED

  I heed his advice. But I don’t run away. I run straight to him, bounding out of the car and crossing the long parking lot in a matter of seconds. The men stalk after me, but their limited speed gives me a considerable lead.

  ‘You need to get out of here,’ Zen tells me urgently. ‘Get as far away as you can.’

  I shake my head, eyeing their ominous approaching figures. ‘I can’t leave you here alone.’

  ‘Sera.’ Zen’s voice is dark and grave. ‘They don’t want me. They want you. And I’ll only slow you down. You can outrun them. I can’t.’ He looks towards the car. ‘I’m going to make a move for the gun in the centre console to try to divert them. Get at least two miles away so they can’t track you.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘I will find you. I promise.’ Zen places his hand on my hip for a brief moment. Then he gives me a shove. ‘Now GO!’

  I bow my head and sprint forward, surrendering my thoughts, my doubts, my fear to the power of my legs. My fast, perfect, questionably human legs.

  They don’t fail me.

  The scenery whizzes by in a blur as I manoeuvre behind the gas station and head for the vast plains in the distance. The wooded mountain landscape is slowly morphing into desert. The early-afternoon sun is hot, beating down on my face and bare shoulders, but it doesn’t slow me.

  I take a moment to glance behind me. One of the men is chasing after me. But he’s not fast enough. For every second that passes by, I put another fifty feet between us. The other man is . . .

  I don’t see him.

  Then I hear the loudest bang! I’ve ever heard in my life. It startles me and I let out a quiet whimper.

  With a sick feeling in my stomach and a foreboding sense of darkness, I slow to a stop and turn back towards the gas station, squinting against the bright sun. I can just make out the second man, staggering around the side of the building. He moves with difficulty, and upon closer inspection I can see that he’s dragging something.

  He dips in and out of view as he weaves around a series of large black dumpsters. When he clears the last one, I can finally see what he’s towing behind him.

  And despite the blazing heat, my whole body turns to ice.

  No.

  It can’t be.

  I take a step forward, hoping the minor shift will somehow drastically alter my point of view. Transform what I’m seeing into something less horrific.

  But it doesn’t.

  Just like with the memories on that tiny silver cube, I can’t change anything. I can only see what is there. I am powerless to do anything about it.

  I watch as the man hoists the unconscious body and tucks his hands under its armpits, before continuing to heave it across the asphalt parking lot.

  From this great distance – nearly a mile away – the body is tiny. Not much bigger than an insect. But there’s no denying who it belongs to.

  ‘Zen!’ I cry out, and then quickly cover my mouth.

  Is he dead? Or only deactivated? Did they use the same device on him that they used on me? Or was that loud noise I heard Zen’s gun going off?

  Oh, please don’t let him be dead.

  I’ll never be able to survive knowing they killed him. Because of me. The guilt will surely kill me too.

  I have to go back for him. I have to do something. I can’t just stand here and watch.

  I shift my weight, preparing to dart back towards the gas station. But I feel a sizzle on my wrist, freezing me in place. My tattoo. It’s pulsating again.

  I hear heavy footsteps approaching. Accompanied by strained, ragged breathing. My pursuer has identified my location and now he’s closing in on me.

  I take one last longing look in the direction of Zen’s lifeless body and tear myself away. Heading for the sprawling crimson desert before me. Tears stinging my eyes as I go.

  The ground is uneven – a jumble of rocks, mounds and small holes. My ankles swivel smoothly in every direction to keep my body stabilized as I navigate the rough terrain. Once again, I’m astonished at how easy it is. How little effort it takes on my part. After running for twenty minutes at top speed, my breathing is steady and even. My muscles still feel strong and agile. I feel like I could run for days and never tire.

  I don’t move in a straight line. I make sure to zigzag, changing my direction randomly and frequently so that I can’t be followed.

  Once I’m sure he’s no longer behind me, I come to a stop.

  I’m in the middle of nowhere. A stretch of open silent space. Without a soul around for miles. The wind blows, whipping my hair and spraying small pebbles against my bare arms and legs. The air is dry out here. And laced with dust. It burns my throat.

  I fall to my knees and rest my forehead against the scalding-hot sand.

  The tears gush out in a torrential downpour, plunging directly from my eyes into the dirt, creating small muddy pools beneath me. As hard as I try to pull myself together and think straight, I can’t stop crying.

  I can’t stop picturing Zen’s body being dragged across the parking lot.

  I could have done something. I could have stayed behind and fought. I already know I’m stronger than they are. So why did I run? Why did I listen to Zen?

  Why did I choose to save myself when I could have saved us both?

  Is it really because of my DNA? Because some scientist programmed me to flee? I can’t bear the thought of it. I can’t stand to think that Zen might be dead because I was too weak to defy my impulses.

  What’s the point of remembering someone if you’re only going to lose him again? What’s the point of clinging to something if it’s only going to be ripped away from you?

  My eyes burn. My head pounds. Everything is spinning.

  I fall on to my side and curl into a ball, hugging my knees to my chest, begging for someone – something – to come and take this moment from me. Steal it from my memory. Store it somewhere I’ll never find it.

  I don’t care.

  I just want to forget.

  I stay like that for a long time – maybe even hours, I don’t know – but no one comes.

  The memory of Zen’s lifeless body stays locked in my brain. Condemned to play on a never-ending loop. To torture me forever.

  Eventually a voice comes from deep in the back of my mind, telling me to get up. To stop crying and start formulating a plan.

  But it feels hopeless.

  I know nothing about these people or what they’re capable of. I have no information to act upon. If Zen is still alive, what will they do to him? Where will they take him? I don’t even know where to start looking.

  You’re wrong, the voice argues.

  And it’s enough to make me sit up and wipe the tears and dirt from my face.

  ‘I am?’ I ask aloud.

  You know exactly where they would take him, it replies.

  And I immediately realize that the voice inside me is right.

  I do know. They would take him back to where he came from. Back to the place where we met. Where we read poetry together. The place we tried to escape from.

  The Diotech compound.

  At that instant I know that I have to go there. If he’s alive, then I have to help him. I don’t know where this unyielding sense of necessity is coming from but it’s there. It’s not something I can touch or define or even remember. And yet I trust it blindly. It’s an undeniable part of me. A force I can’t fight. No matter how strong I am. A power I cannot run from. No matter how fast I am.

  It’s as though I don’t have a choice.

>   I pull myself to my feet and dig the cellphone out of my pocket.

  When I searched for Diotech on the Internet, I came up with nothing. But maybe the Diotech compound isn’t listed on the Internet for a reason. If they’re as secretive as Zen described, maybe they’re purposefully not publishing their whereabouts.

  Or maybe I simply don’t know how to search for it. Maybe there’s another way. A better way.

  If there is, there’s only one person I can think of who would know about it.

  I fumble through the phone’s various on-screen menus until I find what I’m looking for. An entry in the address book that reads Cody.

  I press Call and hold the phone up to my ear.

  ‘Hello?’ comes the familiar voice after the second ring. The sound of it comforts me.

  ‘Cody,’ I say, sniffling, ‘it’s me. I need your help.’

  There’s a stunned silence and then, ‘Already?’

  I let out a weak and tired chuckle. ‘Something went wrong. Someone has –’ I search for the right word; it pops into my head a split second later, feeling all too appropriate given who’s on the other end of this call – ‘kidnapped Zen.’

  ‘What?’ Cody shrieks.

  ‘Can you come meet me?’ I plead desperately.

  Cody sighs. ‘Fine. Tell me where you are.’ He then proceeds to walk me step by step through the process of using the GPS on the cellphone to identify my location.

  ‘OK,’ he says, after it’s been determined that I’m about three miles from a city called Bakersfield. ‘There’s a train that goes there. I’ll try to get on the next one. Meet me at the coffee shop next to the station in two hours.’

  ‘OK,’ I agree. ‘And Cody?’

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘Bring your laptop too. I need help finding a top-secret compound.’

  I hear him laughing quietly and I can picture him rolling his eyes as he mumbles to himself, ‘I should have just stayed at science camp.’

  34

  INCOMPLETE

  I don’t have any sort of disguise to shield myself from inquisitive stares and wandering eyes, so I find a table in the back, pull my hair down around my face and try to keep my head low to avoid eye contact with anyone.