by A. M. Rose
I don’t respond. I’m in too much shock. She can’t be a part of all of this. She just can’t.
“Close your mouth.” She stands to face me, but I don’t let my gaze fall to the symbol on her chest. She’s stunning, in an eerie way. Almost too perfect—her dark eyes, rosy cheeks, flawless skin, her lips red and dewy, even though she isn’t wearing any makeup. Is this what she’s been covering up with her overuse of foundation?
I swallow the lump building in my throat. Mom has always intimidated me, but now’s not the time to be scared, or for my hands to tremble. I dig my nails into my palms to keep them from shaking.
“What exactly did you think you were doing?”
“Escaping.” My voice comes out in a whisper, and I want to kick myself. Toughen up, Drea, you can do this. Don’t let her bully you. But this is Mom, the woman who’s unnerved me for years.
“And where exactly would you go?” She presses a few buttons on her sleeve again that light up under her touch, and my pulse quickens.
“Home,” I say with as much conviction as I can muster. But standing here now with her in front of me, it sounds like the dumbest answer in the world.
“Home? In Stultus where you do not belong. A place you were never supposed to be a part of. Where some Eugenican can pick you up off some dingy street. Oh, that is right. They already did.” Even though she’s talking funny, the tone in her voice says she isn’t amused, or happy, and this isn’t a joke. And I still can’t wrap my head around that.
Neuveum. I cringe, then clench my jaw. That name jumps to the front of my mind, and I have to fight back my flight instinct. Maddox mentioned them. The secret society. The ones who want to take over Stultus and use me. Is Mom one of them?
“Looks like that pesky virus is still in the way. Even with everything I have done to try to break it down. No matter.” She almost laughs, but it comes out as a huff. “Those Stultusians were given a gift, and look how they treated it.” She glares, and it annoys me more than it hurts.
That look. It’s one I’ve seen before, in the halls at school, even from her sometimes. She thinks I’m flawed, not good enough, defective maybe. Well, I’m not. I may not have perfect grammar, or posture, but I have something she doesn’t have: the pure desire to get the hell out of here. And the sweat that dots her nose says she isn’t as cool and calm as she’s pretending to be.
I look her straight in the eye and keep my voice as level as possible. “Why are you doing this?”
She rolls her eyes, and I want to do nothing more than smack the I’m-better-than-you look off her face, but I keep my hands at my sides. “You really have no idea, do you? This fight goes beyond you. We tried to leave them alone, but it has come to the point where we cannot sit back anymore.” She purses her lips. “Those people sitting around thinking they deserve everything, that they are owed something, without ever lifting a finger. Consuming. Consuming. Consuming. Their actions have consequences. Ones that do not just affect them. It is truly revolting.”
I’m not sure if it’s her egotistical tone or overwhelming sense of superiority, but either way, she’s getting on my last nerve. And although punching her in the face and running for it doesn’t sounds like a bad idea, I don’t have a plan, or any way to get out. And in my mind, she is, for whatever reason, still Mom. Could I even do that to her? Physically hurt her even though she is emotionally crushing me right now? Maybe if I keep her talking I can come up with something, anything. Or at the very least figure out what all of this means. “What makes you think your way’s any better? Why do you think you’re so much better?”
She arches her perfectly groomed eyebrows at me. “Because we are. The number of Eugenican lives wasted over there, trying to help them, teach them. It is sickening. And what those Stultusians have done to the environment. The world. Our world… Do you not get it? We only have one Earth and once it dies we all lose.” Her jaw is tight as she takes a breath, and it slowly relaxes. Mine, however, stays clenched. “What makes you think we are not?”
I gesture around the room, stopping when I get to the screen still projecting at the front. “This. All of this. This doesn’t make you better.” I go to take a step and she stiffens, her hand flying to her belt. Well, it seems like she’d have no trouble hurting me. And that realization hurts more than anything she’s ever said. “You’re supposed to be my mom.” My voice cracks, and I want to kick myself for that. I thought things had changed between us. I thought she cared. But now I know she doesn’t. It was all some kind of sick game.
She flinches, barley enough to notice, but it’s there before she glances at the screen, her ponytail swishing as she turns and lays it over her shoulder. It’s so dark and shiny it looks like an oil slick. “Then you are not looking hard enough. This is how we are going to fix the mess going on over there. Or something like this.” She turns, her hair swishing with her, and walks back toward the door. “Now I am only going to tell you once.” There’s a sharpness in her voice that wasn’t there before. “Alexandrea, you need to come with me.”
“And if I don’t?” I press my nails deeper into my hands. She’s never cared about me.
“You will leave me no choice but to force you.”
I swallow hard and push all the hurt back, morphing it into anger. All this time she’s known about me and has lied to me my whole life. She’s told me what to do, and I’ve obediently listened. Well, no. Not anymore. Unless she has an army of people outside that door, I’m not going to do anything she tells me. Ever again. My heart pounds, but I’m ready, Mom or not. I made a promise to myself to get out of this place, and I’m going to do everything in my power to keep that promise.
“Backup is already on the way. So do not get any ideas.” Her voice shakes just a little, but she can’t hide it from me.
She’s scared.
She should be.
Her hand reaches for her holster. Before she can get her weapon out, I jump at her and push her to the ground. But then she spins us and gets on top of me. Dammit. Using the same move, I flip her. We go back and forth, rolling, until my shoulder slams into the wall.
As she scurries to her feet, I grab her from behind. Her rapid pulse beats against my arms as she struggles. Sharp pain pierces up my arm. I let her go. Her pen’s stuck through my jacket, into my forearm. Son of a bitch. Tears spring to my eyes, but I can’t let the pain overtake me.
Sweat drips from her chin as she unclips her weapon from her holster. The fact that she doesn’t even hesitate pisses me off even more. If she gets it out, I’m dead. But if she thinks I’m giving up that easily, she’s wrong. I grab her again. She thrashes her body against me, using all her might to get me to release her, but there’s no way I’m letting go this time. I clench my jaw and force myself not to think about the pure agony throbbing in my arm.
Her knees go slack and we both fall to the ground. Bad move. Pinning both her arms with one of mine, I pull the metal tube from my pocket and shoot her with a dose of tranquilizer. But it isn’t working. She fights the reaction of the drug, pushing her arms against mine. I press the tube into the side of her neck and send another dose into her. Her body goes slack and tumbles to the floor. Blank eyes staring at me. Eyes I’ve trusted for as long as I can remember. A wave of emotions rolls through me.
“I’m sorry, Mom.” Tears burn at the back of my eyes.
I yank the pen from my arm with a loud groan, slip it and the tube back into my pocket, and run over to the panel on the wall, hoping I can get out. The adrenaline coursing through me keeps me upright.
“Open it,” a voice booms from the other side of the door.
“I am trying,” a deep voice responds.
Two against one. Not a good scenario. But there could be more than two out there. I have to find another way.
With no other option, I jump back up to the rafters, climbing, letting them take me higher and higher until I’m as far as I can go with my hand on the glass ceiling. It’s warm and solid. And my only chance if I want
to get the hell out of this place. I glance back down, and the table beneath me is so far away it looks as small as dollhouse furniture, like I could pick it up with one hand.
Far below—they’re banging on the door. Trying to get in. My heart races, and blood runs down my arm. I don’t have much time. Maybe not enough. I slam my fist into the glass. Shit, nothing. I’m lucky I didn’t break my hand. My ring only clinks against it without even leaving a mark. And this little laser can’t cut through anything this thick. I need something thicker, stronger.
The banging’s getting louder. I’m running out of time.
I grab the metal tube from my pocket and with all my strength I slam it into the glass. It slips from my hand, and I fumble to grab it before it falls. Nothing. It did nothing.
They’re still pounding, getting closer. It won’t be long now.
Wait. Not nothing. There’s a tiny fracture, almost too small to see. I pull in a long breath.
Slam!
Slam!
Slam!
Each time the tube hits, more lines develop. But it’s not happening fast enough.
There’s a crash beneath me and a flood of people rush into the room. It only takes them a second to spot me. Shots are fired. One whizzes past my ear, clicks against the window above me and ricochets off. That’s way too close. I squeeze my eyes shut and slam the tube back into the window with everything I’ve got, and then again. Please. Please. Please. I strike it again, finally shattering it. Shards of glass rain down on me.
The people below gasp and scream, but I don’t look back. There’s no time. Instead, I throw myself through the opening. The pitch of the roof is steep. I have to grab on tightly not to slide right off. They’re shouting below. I have to go now. Pulling myself up to the peak of the roof, I get to my feet.
I run as fast as I can and try to get my bearings. Double shit. This building has to be at least twenty stories high, with towering redwoods surrounding it. Think, Drea. Think.
My foot slips from under me and I start to slide. I twist my body and throw my hands up, grabbing the roof. My nails dig into it as I hang on with my fingertips. The pain in my arm multiplies by a thousand, but I fight against it. My legs dangle over the ledge, hovering in space that threatens to drag my whole body down into the pit below.
Focus.
I pull myself up, completely giving in to my body’s strength, and stand. Someone behind me fires again, the bang reverberating in my ears. There’s no more time to waste. I run along the edge of the roof at full force. The cluster of trees gets closer. My only option is to make a leap toward them. I steady myself. Here goes nothing.
Three.
Two.
One.
Springing from the roof, I fly through the air and reach for my target. I hook my arms around a thick tree limb. It bends under my weight and springs back up, shaking the others nearby. I hold on tight and wait for it to steady itself enough so I can keep moving.
As soon as it’s amply stable, I pull myself up and walk along it toward the trunk. Then I use it to slide down, the rough bark digging into my stomach, until I find one that’s thick enough. Like a squirrel I run along the length of the bough and leap down onto another of a nearby tree. I follow this pattern a few more times, using the trunk to climb down and running across each limb and propelling myself from one tree to the next.
The ground is getting closer. I leap and reach out for the next branch. As I grab it, I realize too late the tree isn’t green like the others, but brown. Dead. Shit. It bends and snaps, like a dried-out twig, sending me toward the ground. My thoughts fly back to the ropes course. But this time I don’t have a harness to catch me. Focus. I pull my arms and legs in and prepare my body for the impact. It’s like I’m falling in slow motion and the ground gets closer and closer. The carnage of my descent falls with me. I straighten out and try to get my feet under me. My legs hit the earth, and I instinctively bend my knees and do a complete forward roll before I get back up to my feet and run.
I don’t think. I let my instincts guide me. The air is fresh and cool as I pull it in and out of my lungs. The sun is getting higher in the sky as I slow my pace to take a quick glance behind me for the first time. There isn’t anyone in sight. And the lush forest isn’t as perfect as I first thought. The dead tree I ran into wasn’t the only one. There are two, three, four more. What could’ve happened to them?
Mom.
What she said flashes through my mind. Could this be what she was talking about? Could the Stultus—ouch, damn—have something to do with this? But how? There’s no time to think about it now. I turn my attention back to what’s in front of me, when I notice it. Two trees unnaturally close together, separated by mere inches. There’s a flash of color that doesn’t belong in the shadowed forest. It’s too light, too reflective. A portal that’ll take me back to my world, just like the one in Hollywood. I set my sights and run directly at that spot between them. Right before I’m going to hit, I hold my breath, throw my arms over my face, and close my eyes.
A second later, I open them knowing I should’ve made impact, but didn’t. Instead, I’m back in the same area I found the box my biological father left for me. I’m not in Eugenica anymore. My heart races for a completely different reason now. I’m free. I’m back home. I did it. Me. Alexandrea Yvette Smith, the girl who never could learn how to roller skate, was able to escape the inescapable. My abilities helped, no question, but I also followed my own instincts. I made my own choices, without anyone else to help me, and it’s never felt so good.
Maybe I had it in me all along.
My pace slows to a steady walk as this new confidence fills my insides. This could really come in handy when I get back home.
Home?
I stop; my feet root themselves to the ground. I can’t go home. My heart sinks. And that happiness inside me melts away. They know who I am and even though I know them, too, it doesn’t mean they won’t keep coming after me. What if they found Dylan? I still don’t know what happened to him. He could be dead. Like Maddox.
Maddox.
A chill takes over my body, and I put my hands in my jacket pockets to try and ward off the icy feeling. He’s gone. Mom’s basically gone, too. My birth father wanted this for me. He said I need to be alone. I just thought it meant that I would have to leave, not that everyone I loved would leave me.
I find the strength to slide my feet through the loose dirt and over to a giant redwood. The tree offers the support I need as I lean into it. Tired. I’m so tired. Exhausted down to the bone. And my arm is pulsing again. I clench it to my chest. A deer scampers past me, followed by another. And another. I flinch. My bottom lip quivers and a low sob escapes. I haven’t felt this alone since Dad—
No. I can’t think about him right now. I have to be strong. I need to figure out what to do. My fingers explore the bark under them. This tree has probably been here for a hundred years, maybe even more. It’s a survivor, through whatever Mother Nature threw at it. That’s what I need to be.
I stand up straight, push my shoulders back, and force my feet forward. One step at a time. That’s all I need to do right now. I brush past another evergreen tree when it hits me. This is me. I wasn’t bit by a radioactive spider. I didn’t fall into a vat of toxic waste. I was born this way. Even with this virus trying to hold back everything natural that’s inside me, it’s deteriorating. And the real me is breaking through. Everything that’s happened—all the successes, all the failures—I’ve survived. I can do this. It should feel good. Empowering. Instead it feels lonely, and my heart starts to ache.
Get used to it, Drea.
My pace slows again and then I stop to check around. I don’t know where to go, or even what time it is. I try to get oriented to my surroundings and avoid the roaming deer, when someone grabs my elbow.
Chapter Thirty-Six
I swing around, my hand in a tight fist. After what I’ve just been through I’m ready to take on anything.
My atta
cker releases me and I get into position to fight.
“Drea, stop!”
Dylan.
A rush of relief washes over me. It’s him. He’s here. I throw my arms around his neck. He wraps his arms around my waist, lifting me up and into him. I breathe him in deeply, my fingers stroking his soft cotton sweatshirt, and I bury my face in his neck. His breath hitches, and his heart thuds. I take in everything familiar about him. I’m so glad it’s him and not anyone else. As much as I’d like to believe I was ready to fight, I’m not sure I would’ve had the emotional strength to get through it.
“What the hell happened to you?” He’s breathless as he tightens his grip. “I didn’t know where you went… I—I didn’t know if you were hurt, or needed help… I thought I lost you, Drea.” He’s trembling. When I pull back, his eyes are glassy with dark circles underneath, and dirt smudged against his cheek.
I itch to brush it away, but I don’t. “It’s okay. I’m fine. How did you find me?”
“A guy back in town tipped me off. Where have—”
I touch his arm. “I’ll tell you everything. But we have to go.” The forest seems peaceful. I strain to see, to hear, anything out of the ordinary. No footsteps. No glints from sunlight reflecting on metal. For now, it’s just us. “But not here. Where’s your Jeep?”
Dylan glances over his shoulder. “Not too far. Just over that way.”
I grab his hand and pull him in that direction. “Let’s go.”
He doesn’t resist me or let go of my hand as we make our way toward the car. His fingers are like ice. How long had he been out here waiting?
It’s a maze of trees, and the air is so cold. We twist and turn, instead of staying on the path, just in case. Every few steps I look behind us, but no one’s there. Ten minutes later, we climb into the front seats.
Dylan shifts the car into drive. “Tell me.”
