Sanctuary

by Caryn Lix

  “For someone with super speed, he sure takes his sweet time,” I muttered, mostly to hear my own voice.

  To my surprise, Imani answered. “Chip . . ,” she said.

  It took me a minute to figure out what she meant. “Oh, the inhibitor chips. He cut his out.”

  A choking sound escaped her, and I realized she was laughing. “Dumbest thing . . .”

  “Kind of, yeah.” I fumbled for her forehead in the darkness and smoothed her hair back from her face. Her skin burned my hand, a shock of heat. Rita and Mom hadn’t been hot.

  No. They were cold. Dead. “Hang on, okay?”

  A streak of light shot out of the distance, and suddenly Cage was kneeling beside us with what looked like a test tube of water in his hand. I lifted Imani’s head and Cage held the water to her lips. She gulped it greedily, making a murmur of protest when he pulled it away. “Not too fast,” he urged, making her wait a minute before offering another sip.

  “Where’d you find water?” I asked.

  “In one of the storage rooms. It took a while. Their taps don’t exactly operate like ours.”

  “You’re certain it’s water, right?”

  Cage nodded. “Tried it to make sure. If it’s not, it’s close enough that I couldn’t tell the difference.”

  That wasn’t the most reassuring thing I’d ever heard, but Cage didn’t look any worse for drinking it. And Imani sat up, the water seeming to strengthen her. She still clutched my hand. “Thanks,” she whispered, almost growled.

  “Don’t mention it.” Cage settled on his haunches. “Imani, right? You want to tell us what happened?”

  She blinked. “What’s wrong with my voice?” We exchanged helpless glances, but before we had to answer, she pressed on: “I can’t see very well.”

  I winced, not wanting to mention her eyes, either. “What can you see?” I asked cautiously.

  “Shadows. My eyes hurt.”

  She reached up to rub them, but I stopped her before she could claw herself. “They were doing something to you,” I said, ignoring Cage’s look of warning. I didn’t want to panic her, but she had a right to know. “I’m not sure what. We’re going to help you if we can, but first we need to know how you got here.”

  Imani nodded, drawing a deep breath. “Right. Well. I was in sector four. The cells opened, and no one knew what to do. I was sitting on the couch with my sister. . . .” She paused. “Aliya. Where is she?”

  “I don’t know.” I glanced at Cage, signaling him to check the walls for anyone who looked like Imani’s sister. For once, he obeyed without argument or question, stalking off with the light. “Cage is looking for her.”

  “I was on the couch with Aliya,” she repeated, sinking against the wall. Again she reached for her face. This time I took her hands in mine and held them. “I don’t remember much after that. An alarm went off. Everyone jumped up, ran for the cells in case we were going into lockdown. Suddenly all the air seemed to disappear from the room. I went flying and hit my head. I guess I blacked out.” She grimaced. “I woke up and . . .” Her breathing increased rapidly, her fingers clenching over mine. “It was a dream. It must have been a dream.”

  “Imani. Imani, it’s okay. Listen to me.” I squeezed her hands, bringing my face close to hers, speaking in a low, reassuring tone. Somehow, her panic was easing my own grief and terror. Having someone else to focus on let me bury the thought of Mom even deeper. “Everything’s okay. We’re not going to let anything hurt you. Tell me what happened.”

  “I woke up in . . . some sort of tub. Covered in liquid. But I could breathe. Every breath I drew, the liquid filled my lungs and I thought I’d drown, but . . . I didn’t. My head throbbed. My arms hurt. Everything hurt. And these things staring at me . . . Oh God . . .”

  “I know,” I said quickly. “I’ve seen them too.”

  “Then it wasn’t a dream?” Her voice caught. “It can’t be . . .”

  Cage returned. He angled the light toward his own face and nodded down the hall, but his expression didn’t fill me with hope. I got the sense he’d found her, but not in a state he wanted to describe. “Imani,” he said, his tone gentle. “What’s your power?”

  “My power?” She shook her head. “Healing. I heal fast. But . . . not with the chip.”

  Cage angled the light to her arm, revealing a faint scar. “I think your chip is gone. If your power is healing, that might explain why you’re awake.”

  “What else do you remember?” I asked. Cage crouched beside me and I instinctively shifted closer, needing the reassurance. My stomach had tied itself into permanent knots, my heart hammered a thousand beats a minute. I wanted to stay calm for Imani’s sake, but I was pretty damn close to losing it.

  Cage must have known, because he smoothed his hands down my arms, steadying me. I drew a deep breath, forcing myself to focus on Imani as she continued. She seemed to have forgotten her sister for the moment, which was probably a blessing, all things considered. I’d just lost my mom, and I was barely holding it together. I didn’t know how she’d react if she lost her sister the same way. “They stared at me,” she said, “but I don’t think they saw me. Their eyes were white, this horrible, creepy . . . Still, somehow, they knew I was awake. They seemed surprised. One of them . . .” She shuddered. “It poked a claw into my arm. I screamed, got a mouthful of gel, and two more of them came over, but I passed out before I saw anything else. The next thing I knew, I woke up here.”

  Cage cupped her face in his hand, tilting her head to examine her eyes more closely. “How quickly do you usually heal?”

  Her face contorted as she adapted to the change in questioning. Whatever the creatures had done to her, she hadn’t recovered completely. “I don’t know. Fast. Um. I broke my leg once, and that took about twenty-four hours to get back to normal.”

  I followed his gaze. No change in her eyes or her nails, but she sounded stronger. As I watched, though, her eyelids drooped, her body going slack. “Imani?” I said, frantic. “Imani!”

  She pulled herself awake. “Need . . . rest . . . ,” she managed. “For the healing to take effect. My chip . . . it’s gone?”

  Cage helped her stretch out on the floor, careful to keep her from hitting the legs of the prisoners dangling on either side. “It’s gone,” he said. “For good.”

  A slight smile touched her lips as her eyes drifted shut again. I held her hands until they went loose, then found her pulse. It was strong and steady. “Is she okay?” I asked.

  “I think so.” Cage helped me to my feet. “She should be all right here while we check out the rest of the area.” He hesitated. “Kenz . . . there are more of them. All down the walls in this area, every prisoner from Sanctuary.”

  “Are they . . . ?” I swallowed.

  Cage shook his head. “I only checked a few, but they all have a pulse.”

  So why did Mom and Rita die? Age? Or . . .

  The answer hit me with the force of a brick wall. “I have to get back to the computer consoles.”

  I don’t know why I expected an argument, but I didn’t get one. “Let’s go,” he said, tucking his arm around my shoulders. Without knowing I was going to do it, I turned into him, burying my face in his chest. He hugged me tightly, silently, with no demands, no questions.

  Just one moment, I told myself. I just needed one moment to gather my strength, and then I could do this. I could, because I had to.

  I still had people to save.

  But walking away from my mother’s body was the hardest thing I’d ever done. So I did what I always did: forced myself to consider the problem at hand. I stepped back from Cage and he released me without a struggle, although I felt the loss of his warmth like a physical blow. “Are we okay to leave Imani?” I asked, and was pleased at the steadiness of my voice.

  “Do you want me to stay with her?”

  Hell no. I wanted him with me. But . . . “Walk me to the consoles,” I said. I didn’t want to stumble along in the darkness. �
�Then, yeah. You’d better stay with her. I think I might be able to decipher their language if I focus, and you can’t help me with that. I mostly need time to concentrate.”

  Cage must have been following my thoughts, because he evinced no surprise at the statement. “All right. I’ll try to keep watch and check in with both of you.”

  “Did you find her sister?”

  “I think so. She’s just like all the others. I’ll watch over all of them in case there’s a change.”

  I fiddled with the edge of his shirt, staring at his chest, and then pushed the words out in a rush. “And keep an eye on Mom and Rita, okay?”

  “Kenzie . . .” The one word spoke volumes.

  I cut him off. “I know they’re dead. I know. But I don’t want the creatures doing anything else to their . . . their bodies. Just watch them. Okay? Please.”

  He nodded, and the understanding in his expression cracked something in my heart. I turned away from it before I could break further.

  We retraced our steps to the exit from this nightmare room of half-dead and comatose people, and a rush of relief made my knees weak as we regained the dim light from the consoles. “Come find me if you hear anything,” Cage said.

  I glanced at him in alarm. “You don’t think those things will wake up, do you?”

  “No,” he said, too quickly. “I just don’t want to take chances.”

  I nodded, pretending to believe him. “I’ll be as quick as I can.”

  Was I dreaming, thinking I could do this? The symbols swirled around, nothing but gibberish. I touched the screen, and the liquid re-formed into raised letters. I stared at them, desperately seeking some sort of meaning. They remained nothing but symbols: lines, dots, the occasional curve.

  My head throbbed, and I rubbed my eyes. What was I doing wrong? It hadn’t been this hard to pick up Cage’s Mandarin. So far when I’d used my power, the language just came to me, sliding over me like a comfortable sweater.

  Then it hit me. These creatures didn’t read with their eyes.

  I closed mine and traced the symbols, letting my hands wander. Raised bumps, slightly warm to the touch, brushed my skin. I half stroked them, struggling to absorb their meaning.

  After a while, I heaved a sigh and opened my eyes. Cage was in the doorway. “Thought you were with Imani?”

  “Told you, I’m wandering. Nothing?”

  “Not yet. Any change with the prisoners?”

  He shook his head, and I spun on the console in frustration. “This is a waste of time. I don’t even know if my powers work on an alien language.”

  “You don’t know they won’t. It took you a while to catch what I was saying before. Don’t put so much pressure on yourself.”

  I nodded, stretching out the stiff muscles in my neck. “You’re right. I’ll keep trying. Just . . . give me some space, okay? It’s harder with you watching me.”

  He looked like he wanted to say something, but in the end he only nodded and retreated into the corridor. I drew a deep breath and replaced my fingers on the screen.

  What was I doing when Cage’s tattoo started to make sense? I hadn’t tried to read it, that was for sure. I needed something to distract me from the impossibility of this endeavor. Cage came instantly to mind, the strength of his embrace, the cute quirk of his lips when he smiled, the rush of wind when he carried me away from danger. Hard to believe that only a day ago I’d considered him a dangerous criminal. But then, my whole life I’d feared anomalies. I’d been taught that a few lived peacefully and incongruously among us but that most were criminals and murderers. Cage had shown me the opposite was true. I was beginning to suspect that whenever Omnistellar found an anomaly—no matter whether they’d committed a crime or not—they arrested them and tossed them in prison.

  Somehow, my parents had avoided that fate for me, although how or why, I didn’t know. They chipped me, yeah, and kept it a secret, but maybe it wasn’t the betrayal I imagined. Maybe, in their way, they were protecting me. Maybe their position in the company allowed them to circumvent normal procedures. If so . . . could that explain Mom’s slavish devotion to Omnistellar policies? Perhaps her single-minded dedication to her career came from a desire to keep me safe. And perhaps a lifetime of near-maniacal patriotism, of total devotion to the corporation she believed saved her daughter—not to mention utter terror of the havoc she thought the prisoners would wreak if they got loose—led to her pushing that button.

  I’d never get to ask her, of course. My throat caught, and I turned my thoughts to Dad. But that didn’t help, because someone had to tell him about Mom. What would he say? Did he still love her? Would he still love me once he realized what I’d done?

  I leaned against the console, clenching my jaw against tears. I still didn’t dare cry. I wanted to, more than anything, but if I started, I wouldn’t stop, and I’d wind up huddled on the floor incapable of saving anyone, including myself. My parents would want me to fight through this with the values they’d instilled in me, however twisted those values might be.

  Forget it. I didn’t owe anything to my parents. I owed it to myself.

  Suddenly, I realized my fingers were moving with purpose, sliding over words and letters I recognized—distantly, but recognized all the same. This method of reading was unfamiliar, but my ability had picked it up without my noticing.

  And the word beneath my fingers right now?

  Assimilate.

  THIRTY

  CONQUER.

  Genetic.

  Probe.

  Every word came with agonizing effort. My initial understanding of the language required letting my mind wander; now, it called for my whole attention. Words rose to my fingers unbidden, as if I’d subconsciously summoned the information. It came faster and faster—too fast for me to keep up, but as the speed increased, so did my understanding. I stopped trying to translate each word, instead letting the language itself wash over me. As soon as I made that switch, everything became easier, less fractured.

  It bore no resemblance to English. This was more like knowledge dumped straight into my brain, and I reeled in an effort to control it. I trembled on the precipice of consciousness, overwhelmed not only by the rush of data—like clutching onto a roller coaster when your seat belt has come loose—but by what I was seeing.

  This couldn’t be right. But the alien ship had no reason to lie. And something deep inside me was taking the information and twisting it into neat packages, aligning it so it made sense. The ship itself, working with my mind? Or was there a more insidious explanation, like something within myself recognizing the ship and instinctively responding to what I was learning?

  The probes . . . all those years ago. They were terraforming. Actually, no. They weren’t forming the Earth. It was more like . . . people-forming.

  My stomach gave a sickening lurch. I needed space and time to process the data, but unlike my tablet, the alien console didn’t have a pause button. It seemed to know I’d grasped the core concept, how the probes had altered human DNA, and it lurched onward, forcing me to the next idea, and the next, before my terrified brain had time to cope or react. Images flashed before my eyes—the aliens superimposed on other species, other creatures, screaming and blood and terror combined with a deep primal satisfaction until I didn’t know where one feeling began and the other ended.

  At last I gasped, physically wrenching myself from the console and straight into Cage’s arms. I shoved him away in an instinctive recoil, but he caught my wrists and held tight. “Take it easy,” he said. “It’s me.”

  “God.” I closed my eyes, leaning against his shoulder.

  “You okay?”

  “Yeah. No.” I shook my head. “Cage, I know what’s going on. The probes they sent all those years ago—it’s how the aliens reproduce. They find hosts, inject them with their DNA, and then take them over. That’s why the prisoners are all alive but Mom and Rita aren’t. Their DNA was pure human. Ours is part alien.”

  He stared a
t me, realization slowly dawning. “So everyone with powers . . .”

  “We’re alien incubators,” I replied, my voice shaky to my own ears. “They set us up, altered our DNA in preparation. And we went and stashed everyone affected in a nice convenient prison. They didn’t even have to hunt us down—they just descended. And I don’t think we’re the only ones they’ve done this to either.”

  “Wait.” He dropped my hands and retreated a step, raking his hands through his hair. “So you’re saying not only are there other aliens, but this race drifts through the galaxy stealing their bodies? Which means that the aliens attacking right now might have been just like us. Innocent creatures from another planet, transformed into . . .”

  I nodded. “They release the probes, keep track of where they end up. People initially exposed to the probe won’t do. It has to be their children, or their children’s children. So a couple of decades later, they launch a reproductive cycle, descending on the planet and harvesting everyone exposed to their DNA.” I shuddered. It sounded so clinical, like I was delivering my own history lecture. But the alien satisfaction, their sense of accomplishment, still washed through me. A wave of nausea threatened, and I tasted bile at the back of my throat. “Then, before they leave, they drop another probe, leaving the planet readying for another harvest a few generations down the road. Total asexual reproduction. They’re like a virus.”

  “And the . . .” His face twisted in disgust as he swiped his fingers on his pants leg, probably not even aware he was doing it. “The junk they’re soaking everyone in?”

  I shook my head helplessly. “Something to ease the transition? To keep us asleep? I’d need a lot more time with the computers to figure out the details.”

  Cage’s gaze traveled toward the cargo area, where maybe fifty kids hung from the walls, slowly transforming into aliens. “How do we stop it?”