Chubs gave me a look I read perfectly. Migraines, not human decency.
“Can he affect someone’s memories?” Chubs asked. “Can he erase them…actually, I don’t think you’re erasing them, so much as suppressing them. But can he manipulate someone’s memories?”
“He can see someone’s memories—” I caught myself, half-stunned by the realization that slammed into me. “He only ever saw my memories when I let him in. I don’t think he could do it on his own. The real reason he tried teaching me control at East River was because he wanted to figure out how I was doing it.”
“That other Orange kid you knew—what could he do?”
Martin. My skin crawled at the thought of him. “He manipulated people’s feelings.”
Chubs looked intrigued, flipping back through the book to a diagram each section of the brain. “That’s fascinating…you’re all using different parts of a person’s mind against them. Er, sorry, that came out the wrong way.”
I held up a hand. “It’s fine.”
“This is complicated to explain, but even though the mind has many different structures within it, they all work together in different ways. So it’s not really that you’re accessing different sections of the brain, but different systems within it. Like the frontal lobe plays a part in making and retaining memories, but so does the medial temporal lobe. Does that make sense?”
“Sort of. So you think I’m somehow interrupting different parts of that process depending on what I’m doing?”
“Right,” he said. “My understanding is that ‘memory’ is many different systems, all of which function in slightly different ways—creation, for instance, or bringing one to mind, even storing.” He picked up the book in front of him. “The memory of what this object is, how to lift it, how to read the pages, how I feel about it…all different systems. My best guess is that when you ‘remove’ someone’s memories, you’re not removing them at all, just disrupting a few of these key systems and rerouting the real memories to imagined ones…or disrupting the encoding process before the memory can take shape and the neurotransmitters work, so the person can’t—”
“Okay, but how do you jump between different systems? Control other functions?”
“I don’t know,” Chubs said, “how did you do it to Clancy?”
That brought me up short.
“You froze him the same way he froze Liam and Vi. What did you do differently?”
“It was…the intent, I guess? I went completely still and wanted him to do the same—” The words choked off.
Mirror minds.
That’s what he had told me, when I couldn’t figure out how to get back out of the darkness there, sever the thread between us. Once I brought up a memory, my grip on his mind shifted back to his memories. When I went still and wanted him to do the same, he did.
I explained the theory to Chubs, who nodded. “It sort of makes sense. When you intentionally go into a person’s memories, you’re using the memory of how to do it rather than a memory itself. Wow, that sounded less confusing inside my head. Anyway—it involves being vulnerable to the other person having access to your memories, some sort of natural empathy on your end. I can’t imagine him being willing to run the risk of releasing any part of the control he has over his mind, or that he possesses a shred of empathy. Do you want to experiment with this? Maybe we can see if you can get me to move my hand—”
“No,” I said, horrified. “I just want to know what system, or part of her mind, he affected to leave her like this.”
Chubs sat back, his excitement still there, verging on gleeful. “It’s going to take me a little time to find the answer. I’ll have to go through all of these books.”
“Hey, losers,” Vida said from the doorway, still flushed and dripping with sweat from her workout. “I think you’re going to want to see what they’re working on in the garage.”
IT TOOK ME A MOMENT TO EVEN UNDERSTAND WHAT I WAS SEEING AS WE APPROACHED. Duct tape held up two white sheets as a backdrop behind Zu, who was perched on a folding chair. She glowed under the flood of light from four desk lamps that had all been turned and angled toward her. They’d set up a poor man’s version of a studio in the corner of the room.
There were two other chairs; the one facing her, next to the camera, was for Alice, who was fiddling with the device. The other was for Liam, who sat to Zu’s right, talking to her quietly.
He was the one that spotted us first, and scowled.
“What’s going on?” Chubs asked, trying to take in the scene.
“Suzume’s agreed to do an interview with us,” Alice said, craning her neck around to look at us. She was still dressed in all black, but her hair was twisted now into a messy bun. Next to her were two different notebooks, each open to a page full of scribbles in blue ink. She had a third in her lap.
Cole said you only get one shot to prove this would work. I almost said it, but it felt petty. After only a few hours, there was no real way to measure the full impact of the first media package they’d already released.
“Is there a problem?” Liam asked.
Vida let out a whistle, as if already predicting how this situation was going to play out. But contrary to what Liam apparently thought, I wasn’t here to pick a fight.
“Zu,” I said, “can I talk to you? Just for a second?”
She nodded immediately, and I felt tension release its hold on my stomach. I led her a little way away from the others.
“Are you okay doing this?” I asked. She gave me a bright nod, and held up her fingers in an “okay” sign.
“And you understand that if you do this, your face will be all over the place—they explained that, right?” I didn’t want her to think I was treating her like a kid incapable of making her own decisions, and I didn’t want to imply that Liam would ever purposefully trick her, but I needed the confirmation from her. My first instinct with the others, no matter what, would always be to act like a shield, positioning myself between them and the prying eyes of the world. And Zu, being Zu, seemed to understand.
She slid the small, narrow notebook out of her pocket and wrote, I can’t fight, right? Not at Oasis. Not at Thurmond?
When I shook my head she didn’t seem upset by it, just resigned. This is the only way I can think of to do something. I want to help!
“I hope you don’t think I haven’t noticed or appreciated all that you’ve done here at the Ranch so far,” I said.
Zu kept writing. What happened yesterday made me realize it’s important to speak up and say your piece—what you believe in.
“Liam has that effect on people,” I said quietly.
She took my arm and moved her thumb from the corner of the page, so I could see what else she had written. I want to be strong like you. I want to do this to help you get what you want. I’m tired of being scared. I don’t want them to win.
The words stole the pain in my heart away, just for a little while. I managed to smile at her, and hugged her tight enough that she let out a silent, shuddering laugh.
“Okay,” I said. “Liam’s talking for you?”
She nodded. I told him he could as long as he wasn’t in the shot. He said it was okay, but I don’t want anyone to go looking for his family because of this.
“What about your family?”
My family is here.
I bit my lip. “You’re right. We are. And, for what it’s worth, I think you’re going to knock ’em dead.”
Zu scribbled something down in her notebook and held it up for me to see. I will. I’ve been practicing. Will you stay and watch?
“Of course.”
Chubs and Vida were still standing where I’d left them, talking quietly to each other, their backs turned to Liam. They stepped away from each other as I came closer, and the quiet conversation between Liam and Alice ended the moment Zu sat back down.
I felt Liam’s eyes flick to me, just for a moment, but I kept my own eyes on Zu, gave her an encouraging little smile when
she glanced over one last time.
“Ready?” Liam asked.
“I have paper and a pen for her to write with,” Alice said, picking up one of the bigger notebooks from the floor and holding it out to her. “She can tell me to stop at any point, and I will. She and I shook on it.”
“I know. Go ahead.”
Liam’s jaw worked back and forth, but he said nothing. Alice waited only a moment for me to lodge another protest before she turned. From where I stood behind her, I could watch as she switched her camera over from still photos to video. Zu couldn’t fix her eyes on the camera lens for long, not without a look of wariness. I watched as she adjusted her plain white shirt and jeans, folded and unfolded her hands in her lap. Crossed and uncrossed her ankles.
“Okay, sweetheart, make sure you write nice and big so Liam can easily read it. If you don’t want to answer anything, just shake your head. Okay? Great—let’s start off with two easy ones: can you tell me your name and age, please?”
Zu scribbled the words down, looking relieved to finally not have to stare at the camera. I thought that was the only reason she bothered writing, even though Liam clearly knew the answer to both of the questions.
“My name is Suzume,” he said, “and I’m thirteen years old.”
“Suzume? That’s a lovely name.”
“Thank you,” Liam read. “My friends call me Zu.”
“Can you tell us a little bit about why your friend is speaking for you?”
Zu looked away from the camera, over to where we were standing. I saw the small movement in the corner of my eye, the way Vida gave her a low, quick thumbs-up.
I’ve been practicing.
“Because…because for a long time I was too scared to say anything,” Zu said. “And I didn’t t-think anyone would l-listen.”
Liam jumped as if she’d shot him in the chest, his face pale with shock. The world ceased to spin under my feet for that first second when her sweet, high voice emerged. It was slightly halting, edged with the nerves she wasn’t letting anyone see on her face. So different, too, from the way it sounded when she had talked in her sleep—not scratchy with disuse.
“I did it,” she said, almost in wonder.
“Yeah you did! Get it, girl!” Vida said, and her loud clapping was the only sound that emerged in the silence that followed. The kids who’d been watching the interview happen from where they sat fanned out on the floor to the side looked, in a word, stunned.
Chubs moved quickly, shoving past me, Vida, and Alice, who’d started to rise to her feet to reset the camera, and all but slammed into Zu. His face as he hugged her was a portrait of pure joy, and he didn’t bother trying to hide the evidence of the tears that were beginning to track down his face.
“I’m t-trying to do an interview,” Zu complained, her voice muffled by his shirt. After a moment, she relented, patting his back.
“Okay, Charlie,” Vida said. “Let the girl finish before you try to drown her in tears. Come on.” She carefully extracted him from the interview space, guiding him back around to where I stood, where the rest of his embrace was transferred to me. And I was more than a little glad for the excuse to look away from Zu to deal with the tears that were starting to well up behind my own lashes.
“Why is everyone acting like c-crazy people?” she said, and already her voice was getting steadier, stronger. “Can we start again?”
Liam stood up, about to drag his chair away when she grabbed his hand and said something quietly to him. I couldn’t see his expression at first, not with his back to us, but I caught a glimpse of it as he pulled his chair over to the other side of the camera, and my throat ached with the pride there, the happiness. He sat back down and Zu immediately reoriented herself so she was angled toward him instead of the reporter. Her whole posture changed, relaxing enough for her to start swinging her legs back and forth.
“This okay?” Liam asked, both to her and Alice.
The reporter nodded, merely crossing the next two questions off her list.
Her next questions were about Zu’s color classification and what she could do. It led naturally into a bigger question. “Were you sent to a camp by your parents, or were you picked up?”
“I made my father’s car—I killed its engine by mistake. It was an accident. Up until then I had only ruined a few lamps. My alarm clock. They were talking about…terrorists, I think, they were saying that they thought IAAN was because of terrorists and that they should leave as soon as possible to go back to Japan. I got upset and—I didn’t have a good control. I fried the engine, and cars hit us. My mom’s pelvis was broken. After she got out of the hospital, she insisted I go back to school that next Monday. It was the first Collection.”
The Collections were a series of pick-ups kept secret from children. If parents felt threatened by their children, or thought they were a danger to themselves or to others, they sent them to school on specific days and the PSFs picked them up.
“You mentioned you can control your abilities now. How did you learn to?”
Zu shrugged. “Practice. Not being afraid of them.”
“What would you say to people who feel that letting Psi kids learn to control their abilities endangers others?”
She made her patented Are you kidding me? face. “Most kids only want to control them so they can feel normal. Why would I want to fry every light switch or phone I touch? Every computer? There are kids who abuse it, maybe, but most of us…we’re more dangerous if we can’t control it, and everyone can learn if you give them time.”
“How did you feel when you realized you were being picked up by the Psi Special Forces at school that day?” Alice asked.
“I thought it was a mistake,” she said, looking down at her hands. “Then I felt stupid and small—like trash.”
The reporter’s questions had clearly been designed to bleed Zu’s old wounds for every last terrible detail. A question about her daily routine at Caledonia turned into how the PSFs treated them on an average day, and then on days they misbehaved. It was excruciating to try to imagine it happening to her—beyond that to hear Alice ask, “You mentioned before that you only got out of Caledonia because you escaped. Can you talk about what happened?”
Zu turned, leaning slightly so she was looking at Liam. He’d been watching with his arms crossed over his chest, struggling to keep the emotion off his face. Now he gave her a small nod, this heartbreaking little smile. Go ahead.
“It was planned for months by my friend—he wasn’t my friend then, but he was so nice to everyone. So smart. We knew we would only have one chance to get out, and he was it.…” She moved into the finer details of the escape, how they had communicated the details to each other leading up to that night. “Then it was happening…it was working…it snowed the day before, and there were piles of it everywhere. It made it hard to run, but we could see that some of the older kids were already in the booth—the guard box at the electric fence’s gate. They were trying to disable it—get the gate to open. I don’t know what was wrong. The camp controllers must have somehow blocked them. Then we just got…”
Alice let her have a few moments to collect her thoughts before pressing, “You got what? How did the PSFs and camp controllers respond?”
Zu couldn’t bring herself to say it. I remembered the scene so vividly and I had only seen it secondhand in her memory. To have actually experienced it…I snuck a glance at Liam. He hadn’t moved from his rigid pose, but his skin had taken on an ashen quality.
Finally, Zu lifted her hand, made a gun using her fingers, and fired in the direction of the camera. Alice actually flinched.
Why is that surprising? I wondered. Why would they feel any shame in mowing us down? How had they never even considered that possibility when they’d turned their kids over to a branch of the military?
“Are you saying they opened fire on the escaping kids? Are you certain they were using real rounds of ammunition?”
She said in a flat voice, “Th
e snow turned red.”
Alice stared at her notebook in her lap, as if unsure of where to go next with this.
“I don’t think people see us as human,” Zu said. “Otherwise I don’t know how they can do the things they did. You could always see that the PSFs were a little afraid, but also very angry, too. They hated having to be there. They called us all different names—‘animals,’ ‘freaks,’ ‘nightmares,’ bad words I’m not supposed to say. That’s how they could do it. If we weren’t human in their minds, they could treat us that way and not feel bad about it. That night we were like animals in a pen. Most of them shot at us from the windows of the camp’s building. They’d wait until one of the kids got real close to the gate and then…”
I didn’t realize she’d attracted a crowd until I heard someone let out a faint gasp, and found the remaining kids and Cole standing a short distance behind us. Most were focused on Zu’s pale face as she explained this, but Cole was watching his brother.
“How did you escape that same fate?” Alice sounded genuinely invested—engaged.
“My friend—the one who’d planned it? They got the gate open. He came and picked me up and carried me out. I fell and couldn’t force myself to get up and run. He carried me for hours. We found a car, this old minivan, and just drove for days to get away. We’ve been looking for safe places ever since.”
“How did you survive out on the road? How did you find food and shelter?”
“We…I don’t want to say,” Zu said. When Alice sat up in surprise she added, “Because there are so many kids who are still out there searching for those things, and I don’t want to tell people where to look for them, or how to wait for them to show up. There were a lot of ways to do it. You just had to learn how to stay invisible—not take bad, big risks.”
“By ‘people looking for them,’ are you talking about skip tracers?” Alice asked. “I looked up your listing in their network. The reward for ‘recovering’ you and returning you to PSF custody is thirty thousand dollars—did you know that?”
In the Afterlight (Bonus Content) Page 31
