Nine

by Rachelle Dekker

  I shook it off. It wouldn’t matter what I’d hit if we didn’t get her to a hospital quickly. She’d bleed to death. I turned to look over my shoulder and saw Seeley standing a few feet away, looking on with a pale expression.

  “Help me!” I shouted. “We have to get her help.”

  He didn’t respond.

  “Seeley, help me!”

  “She was a loose end, Number Nine,” he said.

  “She’ll die if we don’t get her somewhere quickly,” I said, shifting my weight so I could get my feet underneath me and lift Zoe. I turned toward the truck. “There’s a city close. If we leave now—”

  “No, Number Nine,” Seeley said. “This was always her end.”

  “Stop calling me that.”

  “Number Nine, I order you to—”

  I stepped past him toward the vehicle. “I don’t follow orders anymore.” I could feel the familiar compulsion to obey that had been birthed into me, the desire to do as I was asked. But I could also feel the idea of a new truth growing beside it. I could change. Choose. Olivia had told me. Zoe had told me. I could be whoever and whatever I wanted. And right now, I wanted to save Zoe’s life.

  “Number Nine!” Seeley shouted.

  I ignored him, opened the back door of the Jeep, and carefully laid Zoe’s body inside. She’d gone limp a moment ago, which meant she was unconscious. There wasn’t much time. I shut the door and moved toward the driver’s side.

  “Lucy, listen to me,” Seeley tried.

  “Don’t call me that either,” I said over my shoulder.

  “Then who are you?” he asked.

  “I don’t know yet.”

  I heard a familiar click and paused. I was facing away from him but could see the weapon in his hand through the reflection of a store window.

  “I don’t care who you are,” he said. “You’re coming with me.”

  “Or you’ll shoot me?” I asked. I was momentarily afraid, but again my training crept through and I started looking for exit routes and fixes for the problem I was facing. The gun I’d fired at Zoe lay on the ground to my right. If I moved fast enough, I could get it. But could I get a shot off before he did?

  Did I want to be the kind of person who took another human’s life? The question popped into my mind and struck a deep chord within me. Killing was exactly what I’d been trained to do. But I wasn’t who I’d been trained to be anymore. If I acted out of the same programming, then what made me any different? If I wanted to be different, I had to react differently.

  Who did I want to be?

  I wanted to risk as much as Zoe had risked saving me. Even if it meant being shot in the back. I ignored the urge to defend myself and took a couple of steps toward the driver’s door.

  “Number Nine! You have to come back with me,” Seeley said.

  “I’m never going back there,” I replied.

  “They have my daughter!”

  I stopped and glanced at him to see tears welling in his eyes. Without needing explanation, the story of how he got here unfolded in my brain. Hammon was exploiting him by threatening his daughter.

  “Hammon will kill her,” Seeley said, a tear streaming down his cheek. “You know he will. She’s not even eleven.” He barely got the words out before a cry blocked his airway. His extended arm began to quiver, then his shoulders started to shake. As if years of emotion balled up inside his muscles released all at once, he broke.

  I had never seen a man cry, and the severity of his anguish broke my heart. Again the question Who do you want to be? echoed through my mind. And I knew. Moving swiftly, I approached Seeley, who’d dropped his weapon, his shoulders slumped forward, his agony threatening to drag him to the ground. I didn’t hesitate or wait for permission. I wrapped my arms around him and drew him close.

  He didn’t resist. He fell into my embrace, and in that moment both of us ignored the way the world had taught us to act. Instead we leaned on one another, becoming more than what we’d believed we could be. I would have held him for as long as he needed, but Zoe was dying, and his daughter was running out of time. I reached into my programming and began to calculate a plan. The Grantham Project had given me these tools. Best to show them how I could use them.

  SEELEY HADN’T WANTED to move, sitting there in an embrace of kindness—something he hadn’t encountered in as long as he could remember—but they couldn’t afford to linger there. He’d been a mixed bag of embarrassed and relieved. Regretful and hopeful. Something had started to break inside him. Whether it was because they were in that place or because he’d watched both Zoe and Lucy vacillate between what they should be and what they wanted to be, questions of his own had begun to manifest.

  Questions he’d lay aside for now so he could focus on the task at hand. First they had to deal with Zoe. Lucy was right, she needed medical attention, but Seeley knew they couldn’t just walk her into a hospital. For starters, any gunshot wound would immediately alert the authorities. Second, Hammon had ears and eyes everywhere.

  Seeley managed to convince Lucy to listen to him. Using a burner phone he found in McCoy’s Jeep, he placed a call to an old army buddy who specialized in undocumented medical help. He owed Seeley a favor and wasn’t too far away. He needed an hour, so they assigned a rendezvous spot and used the time to hatch a plan. It was clear. It could work. If not, he’d pay with his life. But Cami wouldn’t. That’s what he told himself over and over.

  They met Seeley’s old colleague at a dingy motel outside of Chattanooga. They paid for a couple days in cash and stepped aside as the retired doctor got to work. He didn’t say so, but Seeley could tell from the expression on his face that Zoe was in bad shape.

  “How’d this happen?” the doctor asked.

  “I shot her,” Lucy replied.

  He glanced up at her with a pensive expression. “You narrowly missed her heart.”

  “I know,” Lucy said.

  Without any further discussion, Seeley’s comrade began his work.

  “Please don’t let her die,” Lucy whispered, more tears gathering in her eyes.

  The doctor didn’t pause as he injected Zoe’s limp arm with a clear liquid. “I can’t make any promises.”

  “We need to go, Lucy,” Seeley said.

  She looked at him, her expression pleading for there to be another way. He could see the struggle she was facing, leaving Zoe here. But she also knew they didn’t have another choice.

  As they stepped out of the hotel room she said, “Call me Number Nine, because that’s who I need to be for now.”

  He nodded. He knew that what was going to be required of her would be difficult. She was going to carry the weight of it, and he would support her the best he could.

  They left McCoy’s Jeep stashed in the woods that surrounded the city and drove Seeley’s agency car back to Xerox. It took them eight hours, which they rode in silence.

  Seeley glanced over at Number Nine as he pulled the truck up to an entry point, a group of armed agents approaching. “Ready?” he asked.

  She didn’t reply but glanced back, focused as ever.

  That was answer enough.

  The doors on both sides of the truck were opened, and half a dozen weapons aimed at them as they climbed out, arms raised. The moment Seeley’s feet hit land, an agent yanked him from the vehicle, and another secured his hands behind his back. They carefully led Number Nine away from the truck as well, but without the restraints.

  Both were led into Xerox’s main building. The same one Seeley had regarded as home at one point. Now it felt foreign and uninviting. They were taken through the main entrance and toward the back elevators. A walk of shame for agents who didn’t follow orders.

  The elevator dropped to the last accessible level without high security clearance. The doors opened to Hammon, who was accompanied by four more armed agents. His suit was crisp as always, his eyes calm.

  Seeley’s fury toward the man raged like fire under his skin. He was yanked out from the elevator
with Number Nine close behind. The doors shut, and for a moment those gathered stood in silence.

  “Good to see you understand reason,” Hammon said, his eyes on Seeley.

  “I want reassurances that Cami is safe,” Seeley said.

  “And Miss Johnson?” Hammon asked.

  “Dead,” Number Nine said. “I shot her.”

  Hammon stepped toward her and cocked his head slightly, as if surveying a painting to determine its authenticity. Seeley felt a knot form in his chest.

  “You brought her body with you for disposal?” Hammon asked.

  “No, sir,” Seeley answered.

  A spark of intrigue lit his expression.

  “Traveling across state lines with a dead body in the back was too much of a security risk,” Number Nine jumped in. Her voice was calm and collected, as if her explanation was the only acceptable course of action. “We burned the body outside of Haven Valley and disposed of the remains. If you want to recover them, you can do so.” She lied as if she believed it herself.

  There were no remains, of course. But travel to Haven Valley would take a few hours. If Hammon insisted on sending a team, Seeley and Number Nine would have time to execute the rest of the plan.

  “You should have transported the subject back to Xerox according to protocol,” Hammon said.

  “Yes, unless following protocol endangers the security of home base, then I’m to take lead on protective measures,” Number Nine answered. “The security of home base must be protected at all costs.”

  Hammon took another pause. He was an intelligent man who wouldn’t be fooled easily. He glanced back to two of the waiting agents and nodded. He would send a team, which just shrank their timeline.

  He turned his attention back to Seeley. “Escort Agent Seeley to level A.” Prison, as promised. The other two agents moved forward to comply.

  Seeley yanked against their hold. “I want to see that Cami is safe,” he called toward Hammon. “That was the deal.”

  Hammon took a long look at Seeley, then pulled his cell phone out of the inner pocket of his jacket. He keyed in a short number and held it to his ear, his eyes never leaving Seeley’s face. When a voice answered on the other side, he said, “Stand down.” He snapped the phone shut.

  “I want to see her,” Seeley pressed.

  “Take him,” Hammon said to the agents, ignoring Seeley.

  “If anything happens—”

  “Nothing will happen to her, Agent,” Hammon said. “But you will not see your daughter again.” He nodded to the agents, who yanked Seeley away.

  Seeley stole a quick glance at Number Nine, her face cold as stone. Dread opened up inside his chest. He’d watched her flip back and forth many times now. What if she flipped again? What if they really were walking him to his eternal imprisonment? What if she never came for him?

  Number Nine and Hammon disappeared from view as Seeley was escorted around the corner and down the hall. He had no control over what happened next. It was all up to her now. God help them.

  THIRTY-EIGHT

  I WATCHED THE agents take Seeley from view and knew I was on my own. I kept having to wash away the image of Zoe lying unconscious in a dingy motel room and focus on the task at hand. Everything rested on my ability to be who I was before.

  I couldn’t let Hammon or the others see the battle raging inside my head. The one that had mounted as I approached Xerox. With every mile, the call to return to my past, to resubscribe to my old programming, strengthened. It was difficult to ignore the familiar sensations rushing under my skin.

  They were comforting and known. The ways to respond. To feel. The choice to be something different was still unmanifested. It would be easier if I had another foundation to stand on. Instead I was trying to imagine the kind of life I wanted without any proof of what could really be. The only tangible proof I had lay with who I’d been.

  But I didn’t want to be her anymore. Right?

  “Come with me, Number Nine,” Hammon said, stepping back into the elevator.

  I followed without question. That was who I’d been. How I was trained to act. It was easy and natural. Maybe I was fighting too hard against my true nature? It would be easier to just follow the path already laid out for me.

  The thoughts assaulted me as the elevator rose.

  I took a breath, small so as not to arouse suspicion, and reassessed what I was here to do. I recalled images of Zoe. She’d helped remind me that I could choose. “Who do you want to be, Lucy?” I heard her voice whisper through the chaos in my mind as Hammon and his ensemble of agents led me from the elevator. I used her voice as my new foundation. For now, it was all I had.

  We moved out across the main lobby. The eyes of passersby couldn’t help but watch us as we moved. They knew who I was, and I recognized many of them. I needed to get them all out to safety, and there was only one way to do that.

  Compound evacuation. An emergency protocol that could only be activated on the security level, which I would need to get to. For that I would need a weapon.

  We left the main lobby and went down the west stone walkway toward the west side of campus, where our living quarters were. They were guiding me home. Which I would have expected.

  Hammon paused at the front of the hallway and turned to face me. “Things are finally beginning, Number Nine. Your presence will be required this afternoon to meet the president and the defense secretary. You should rest. Please understand the extra security is for your safety—and ours, since things have been unusual as of late.”

  That was putting it mildly. I watched as three more guards joined the ranks. Six in all. Difficult but not impossible. Hammon nodded to the team surrounding me. They already knew their orders.

  “I’ll see you this afternoon. It’s nice to have you home, Number Nine.”

  I nodded, and before Hammon turned to leave, I was escorted away. I counted the steps I took as we moved. Down the hallway, around the right corner, down another wide walkway to a steel door. Across a smaller lobby. We walked in step without a word. I had to bide my time, wait until we came to a space I could use to separate the group.

  Then the opportunity appeared: a doorway the group would have to pass through single file. It had an auto-lock security mechanism that, if engaged, would activate a thirty-second delay before the door could be reopened.

  They moved into a common formation: three ahead, three behind. Three was much more manageable. I took a deep breath as the lead opened the door. One, two, three through. I took a step to follow, then launched myself upward with a twist and grasped the top of the door frame, kicking my legs forward and connecting with the first guard behind me. He stumbled backward into the other two as I dropped and shut the door. I pressed the lock button on the screen beside the door and heard the bolt slide into place.

  Without taking a beat I grabbed for one of the agents with me. I hoisted him up and over my shoulder, slamming him against the far wall. Another raised his weapon on instinct, but I slid across the floor to meet his knees and knocked him to the ground, his gun crashing and sliding away from him. The first agent was back on his feet behind me, and from where I was kneeling on the floor, I sliced my foot up and connected with his gut. He heaved back as I pushed off the floor and slammed my heel into his nose. It knocked him out cold.

  I rolled forward and yanked two blades from his sheaths, one attached to his thigh, the other in his boot. Without hesitation I turned and launched them both into the chest of the guard I’d knocked to the ground. He’d gotten to his feet and had just begun to draw his weapon when the knives sliced into his flesh.

  I turned my attention to the final man. It all happened so quickly that he’d only had time to draw his weapon and get off a single shot. I dodged it with a slide across the floor and then was at his feet, grasping a fallen gun as I moved. He tried to step back and take aim at me again, but I was faster. I was up and only a foot from him, weapon raised. He met my gaze, his pistol in line with mine, but orders made
him pause a moment before firing. And that was all I needed—one split second of hesitation. I fired one clean shot, and then all three guards were down.

  The door behind me unlocked, and I flung myself into a backward handspring with such force that it launched me through the now open door and into the approaching agents.

  We collapsed through the frame into the hallway, and I sprang up off my fallen enemies. Two still twisted on the floor, and I took the third down with a roundhouse kick. His head slammed against the wall, and I yanked his pistol from his belt. I put two bullets into the man trying to climb to his knees and another into the man beside him. The shots echoed across the hall, and I knew others would hear.

  I had to be quick. I placed a final bullet in the third soldier and didn’t wait to see if any would recover. I raced down the hallway, gun in hand, and around the corner. I knew the anatomy of this building like my own. At the end was a small closet. Inside, on the ceiling, was an entrance to the ventilation system. I couldn’t just run back out the way I had come but needed to get across to the other side of the building. I used the metal shelves as steps, hoisting myself up and into the shaft.

  I pulled myself along in an army crawl, drawing on all my strength to move as quickly as I could manage. The light from the main lobby shot through the vents, and I knew I was crossing the middle of the building. I took the path left, into the security section of the campus, steadily breathing and measuring my distance. I paused as an exit approached. I was over the main control room. One breath and I kicked through the grate. It fell into the room. I dropped down on top of it to see three unarmed men wearing headsets and moving away from me, hands raised.

  Innocent, maybe, but then were any, really? Everyone on this campus knew about the Grantham Project. They’d all interacted with the children who had grown into teens and then had a hand in slaughtering them. Even if they hadn’t been on the team, they knew what was happening. Knowing and saying nothing was as bad as pulling the trigger.