Tolbert let out a grunting laugh. “I’ll bet she does,” he said, his gaze lingering on Celina. “I’d like to see you giving her more opportunity to exercise. The other subjects, too.”
Bowen started to ask why the sudden interest in the physical welfare of the Anomalies, but a pinprick of pain like a hot ray of light struck him. It felt like the sudden onset of a migraine. From the groans and intakes of breath around him, Bowen guessed that everyone else felt it, too. Celina was waking up.
“Good God,” said the senator.
“It’s okay,” said Bowen, rubbing his temple. “It’ll pass. This always happens when we have to use drugs to wake her up.”
“It feels like my head is about to pop,” groaned Tolbert. “Like a damn tomato.”
“Yeah, but it passes quickly,” said Bowen. “I’m so used to it that I’m already feeling better.”
“Do you have to put her out often?” said Jones-McMartin, whose hand gripped her forehead as if to massage sinus pressure.
“She does like to mess with people.”
“So you said,” said Tolbert.
Celina stirred and shook her head. Her face brightened when she saw Tolbert and Jones-McMartin.
“Good morning,” she said. “I was misbehaving, so Bowen had to give me something to calm me down.”
Tolbert took a step backward and stood almost at attention, staring. Jones-McMartin stood her ground.
You do want to know, Celina’s voice spoke into his head.
Oh, God, Bowen thought. You know I do.
He didn’t even make an attempt to hide it. For whatever insane reason, he trusted Celina in a way he didn’t think he could trust anyone else. Not his wife. Not his coworkers. And he didn’t have any friends. Not real ones anyway. But Celina was like the priest that his mother had made him confess his sins to when he was a teenager. That old man had known all his secrets. Celina probably knew everything about him. But she also knew things about everyone else, dark secrets and embarrassing secrets. Humiliating things. Things that would end relationships or get people fired. Maybe things that would make some of them slit their wrists. People were full of secrets. Before he died next June, he ought to come and let her really probe his mind. It would be like a final confession.
“But I think that Doc... and Bart here…” She grinned at the orderly, who looked startled. “They just like to watch me sleep. I know what Bart was thinking about when he came to strap me down this morning.”
Bart’s face turned a shade of purple. He stepped away from Celina’s gurney as if that would hinder her ability to see into his mind. When new orderlies were assigned to Anomalies (and especially to Celina), Bowen and Simmons stressed that they had to have a high tolerance for embarrassment. Bart had told Bowen that he didn’t get embarrassed.
Celina just eyed the orderly with a serene expression.
“Can you tell what I’m thinking right now?” said Jones-McMartin, clearly trying to rescue Bart from any further humiliation.
Celina looked at her, an expression of patient indulgence on her face. She might have been a parent who had been asked to guess which of a child’s hands holds a quarter.
“You’re thinking, I had eggs for breakfast...” she said. “But that’s not what you had for breakfast. You hate eggs, and you don’t really like breakfast foods. You had leftover lasagna for breakfast. With skim milk.” She wrinkled her nose. “Gross.”
The senator looked at Bowen, her mouth stretched into an impressed smile and her eyes glinting. “You weren’t wrong. There aren’t any secrets around this one.”
“Around any of them,” corrected Bowen.
“No,” said Jones-McMartin, stepping toward Celina. “No, I bet you know every dark secret your country ever had.”
For a moment, she and Celina stared at each other, their faces so close that Bowen thought for a wild moment they were about to kiss. For just a second, a dark look passed across Celina’s face. Her eyes narrowed as if she had read something in the senator’s face that confused her, and then they widened into an expression of mild surprise. Finally, she laughed and recovered, her usual look of self-satisfaction returning.
“Hey, Doc,” she said, not looking at Bowen. “You should ask them what the Eris Project is.”
Jones-McMartin and Tolbert exchanged a quick glance. The senator looked oddly... satisfied.
“You know what, Doc,” said Celina. “Never mind. They’re going to brief you on it later.”
She stared at Bowen almost as if looking right through him.
“Never mind. You already know.”
The senator smiled and backed away from Celina.
“Should we go ahead and get this thing moving?” said Bowen.
“Yes,” said Tolbert. “I’m ready to see her in action.”
Celina’s voice spoke in Bowen’s mind. Oh, I bet he is ready to see me in action. You wouldn’t believe the stuff he’s been thinking about. Or maybe you would. You dirty man.
Out loud, she said, “Let’s do it.”
13
“I’ve got something for you,” said Havana. “Something you’d never believe if I hadn’t brought you here first.”
Jessica nodded. If Havana handed her a photo of Bigfoot riding a unicorn right now, she’d be inclined to believe it was real. Nothing at all seemed impossible anymore. Not after seeing through the eyes of a wailing infant girl not yet old enough for solid food.
Havana looked at Beck. “I’ll be down in a few minutes to give you a break.”
“I’m fine,” Beck said. She had switched Taylor to her other breast. “Just get her out of here.”
Havana went to the other side of the room to an old filing cabinet in the corner. Jessica hadn’t seen one of those in years. It made her think of the musty-smelling old elementary school building she’d attended so many years ago, and of the country doctor’s office where her grandmother had gone for all of her appointments. Havana opened a large drawer and took out a gray messenger bag. Then she returned to the door and opened it.
“After you,” she said, gesturing toward the hallway.
Jessica took one last look at the nursing baby—at once so alien and so natural. Then her eyes rose to Beck’s face. The nurse stared back with eyes that almost pleaded. Beck opened her mouth to speak and then closed it. The only sound was the faint sucking noise of the baby at Beck’s nipple. Then Beck took a slow, deep breath and finally she spoke.
“We’re trusting you with this little girl.” She gazed right into Jessica’s eyes as if searching for something. Her brows furrowed. “If anybody ever found out that she existed...”
“Havana would kill me,” said Jessica. “I know.”
Beck’s eyes flashed. “No, you don’t get it. If they found out about her, they’d take her away. No one would ever see her again.”
Fire burned in Beck’s eyes for a second, and it took Jessica all she had to return her gaze. But then the fire died, and Beck just look afraid.
“And yes, I’d kill you,” said Havana. “Now let’s go.”
They took the elevator to the ground floor, and the doors opened to a long hallway that led to a door marked EXIT at one end and another door marked AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY at the other.
“Here,” said Havana, thrusting the messenger bag into Jessica’s arms. “It doesn’t have a modem, so you can’t connect this to a network. Just read the files on the laptop—”
Laptop? Jessica thought, hanging the bag by its strap over her shoulder.
“—and keep it hidden. Don’t let anybody find it. Not your editor. Not your mother. Nobody.”
Havana grasped her hand and pulled her down the hall toward the door. Their footfalls reverberated against cinder block walls. As they approached the door, Jessica could hear shouts from outside and the noise of Dragonfly engines.
“What is this?” said Jessica.
“Documents. Information.”
“About w
hat?”
“About everything.”
They stopped at the exit. Havana put her hand on the lever to open it and paused.
“And do not tell anyone about Taylor. No. One.”
“I won’t,” said Jessica. “I swear.”
“This opens to the parking lot where you parked your bike,” Havana said. “Get out of here as quick as you can.” Jessica could see an artery in the obstetrician’s throat pulsing. Her own heart was beating hard, too. “What you do with the information is up to you. I don’t know if you should just leak it anonymously or put it out there on your site with your name on it. But you can’t reveal your source, right? You can’t tell anybody where you got this.”
“I wouldn’t,” said Jessica. “My sources on Vic Sanders are still alive because of me.”
“Good. Now go,” Havana said, grabbing the shoulder of Jessica’s shirt and pulling her through the door, her eyes wild with fear or desperation.
Jessica stepped out into the sunlight. The door slammed behind her, and Jessica stared across the parking lot toward the gate in front of the Artemis building. One of the Dragonflies lay in a smoldering heap. Three others now hovered around it. Two more were parked on the grass with their canopies open. Several drones circled around a remaining protesters, who stood in a tight group, their fists raised.
Jessica ran to her motorcycle and locked the messenger bag into one of her saddlebags. Then she took out her phone and started shooting video, setting it to automatically stream to her feed at American News Site.
“This is Jessica Brantley for American News,” she said, panning the view across the whole scene and then zooming in on the crowd of protesters. “I’m at Artemis Advanced Reproduction Center. I came here this morning to interview Dr. Taylor Hayden. When I first arrived, there were two crowds peacefully demonstrating at the security gate, but while I was inside the Artemis facility, I heard what sounded like an explosion and machine gun fire.”
The crowd tightened, bodies pressing close together as if huddling around something to protect it. The pilots of the two parked Dragonflies stood on either side of the group, pistols aimed.
“I came outside to this scene. It looks like something—I don’t know what—caused a Homeland Security Dragonfly to crash, and—”
“You are all under arrest,” boomed a voice from one of the hovering Dragonflies. “Anyone who resists will be shot.”
“Is that...?” Jessica said, and she zoomed her camera onto a pair of dark shapes on the ground. Bodies. “I believe what I’m looking at right now are two people lying on the ground, either badly injured or dead.”
Two more Dragonflies flew at top speed across the parking lot. When they got to the security gate, their front wings tilted up to use their lift engines as brakes. They settled into a hover on opposite sides of the crowd.
“I think that... ” Jessica began, but she stopped as the crowd parted to let a kid from inside—not much more than a teenager—run toward the nearest Dragonfly. He held something like a ball under his arm.
Then several things happened almost at once.
Drones darted toward him, firing a dozen sedative darts in rapid succession. The Dragonfly’s front wings angled upward slightly to push it back away from the crowd and the running man. The two officers on the ground fired shots at the man’s legs. One of them hit him in the knee. As he tumbled to the ground, he lobbed the object under his arm toward the retreating Dragonfly, which opened fire with its nose-mounted machine guns. The hail of bullets struck the flying ball, which exploded in mid-air. The concussive blast knocked Jessica right onto her ass.
“Oh, my God,” she said, scrambling to her feet and trying to keep her phone pointed at the security gate. “I can’t believe what I’m seeing—”
All of the people in the crowd had fallen, and the Dragonflies themselves had reeled. None of them crashed, but all of them swerved, the tips of their wings hitting the ground. Drones emerged with a buzz from the two new Dragonflies. And with a loud succession of pops, they fired sedative darts at the protesters. Many of them got up and started to run, and two of them ran right toward Dragonflies. They drew pistols and fired at the canopies. One of them yelled something Jessica couldn’t quite make out.
That was just before one of the pilots on foot gunned him down.
14
She was peeling potatoes for supper and listening to Billie Holiday when Kim slipped his arms around her. Val hadn’t heard him come in from work. He slid his hands up and down her forearms. She felt his breath on her neck.
“You shouldn’t startle a girl like that when she’s holding a knife,” Val said, putting down the knife and dropping slices of potato into the pot. She leaned back against him, letting her body mold to his, grateful that the tension they’d both felt since Braden’s dream a few nights ago had dissolved.
“Didn’t mean to scare you,” he said. One hand slipped under her shirt and rubbed her stomach. His pinky finger barely slid under her waistband, teasing. He kissed the spot just behind her ear and moved lower to the nape of her neck. Her skin tingled.
“Mama may have. Papa may have,” Holiday crooned. “But God bless the child that’s got his own.”
“We’re not going to have any supper if you keep this up,” she said.
His hand moved higher, and his thumb stroked the soft lower curve of her breast.
“Who needs food?” he said. He kissed the back of her ear, taking the edge of it between his lips and sucking lightly.
“Rich relations give crust of bread and such. You can help yourself, but don’t take too much.”
Val let her hips sway against him with the music, pressing her butt against the front of his slacks.
“Where’s Braden?” said Kim.
“In his room,” said Val. She leaned her head back onto his shoulder and let him kiss her throat. “Building that new model you got him.”
“That might take him a little while, huh?” said Kim. He gripped her hips and pulled her against him. Billie moved on to “The Way You Look Tonight.”
“It might.”
They swayed together at the kitchen counter, the sounds of clarinet and trumpet moving them. Val thought that even if the world did go to hell, she could survive it if she could have this. Music and the touch of Kim’s hands on her skin.
His lips brushed her jaw lightly, moving downward toward her collar bone. She reached back with her right hand and laced her fingers into his hair. With her left, she took his hand and moved it to where she wanted him to touch her.
“Sometimes I wish you could have Braden’s gift,” she murmured. “So you could know how it makes me feel when you touch me.” She turned her head so that she could kiss him. The tips of their tongues met. He tasted like peppermint.
“Lovely, never never change,” sang Holiday.
Kim unbuttoned her jeans.
“Keep that breathless charm.”
Val sighed as the tips of his fingers slid just under the waistband of her underwear. “Please,” she said, taking his hand and guiding it lower.
But a door opened upstairs and footsteps came down the hall.
“Well,” Kim said, letting his head fall onto her shoulder. Val buttoned her jeans.
“Don’t worry,” she said, turning around to face him. She let her hand brush the front of his pants and then slipped her arms around his waist. “I’ll be ready for you at bedtime.”
“You’d better,” he said, smiling. He put his face next to hers and whispered in her ear what he planned to do for her later. Val’s cheeks burned.
Braden’s footsteps pounded down the stairs.
“I’ll just let you imagine what I might do in return,” Val said, stepping away from Kim and picking up her knife again. “For now, though, why don’t you change clothes and get that chicken started for me? Skillet chicken tastes better when you cook it.”
“Yes, ma’am,” said Kim, but he went on looking at her, hi
s eyes alight. Val ached for him. She might not be able to wait until tonight. They could sneak upstairs for a few minutes while the potatoes cooked.
Braden appeared in the doorway between the kitchen and the living room.
“Good day, kiddo?” said Kim.
But Braden’s face was pale.
“I can hear them,” he said.
Val crossed the kitchen and turned off the music. Now she could hear it, too. A whining noise.
Kim peeked through the window blinds over the kitchen sink. “Shit. Two Dragonflies out front.”
“I can hear them,” Braden said. He stood absolutely still, his eyes open wide in panic. “They’re here to search the house. They know I’m here. Something about infrared.”
“Shit,” muttered Kim. “Come on.” He gripped Braden’s hand and pulled him down the hallway toward the back door. “If the back yard is clear, you and your mother are going to run as fast and hard as you can. Don’t wait for me. I’ll be—”
But he stopped when he reached the door. A tiny point of white light shone through the peephole, and Val could hear the whine of a third Dragonfly’s engines.
“They can see me,” said Braden. “They’re talking to each other about me.”
“This way,” said Val, clasping Braden’s hand. She dragged him toward the cedar chest next to the wall, which hid a trapdoor into the panic room in the basement. “Climb down and stay there, no matter what it sounds like up here.”
“But they already know I’m here,” said Braden. “They can—”
“Do what I say!” hissed Val.
Braden looked startled.
“Just pretend you’re exploring a cave like the one out at Salt Creek,” Val said, trying to soften her tone and take some of the panic out of her voice. She touched his cheek and remembered the last time they took him to the cave. He had stood in the water at the cave entrance, sunlight reflecting from the waves onto his bare back. “I promise, we’re not going to let them take you from us. Or us from you. Got it?”
The Way Out Page 7
